Whoever thinks the love life of a single woman in her thirties is a walk in the park, must come from Pluto.
It’s complicated, true.
And goddamned, at the same time, the dirty thirty love jungle can be so much fun!
Never a dull moment, extreme joy and pleasure go hand in hand with loneliness and tears… Or am I becoming a bipolar maniac?
No bone in my body is longing for a serious long term relationship. I think. Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but for now, I am totally happy with my three lovers and free of any responsibility.
The first lover, let’s call him Dean, is a man who knows how to feel, how to dance. He comforts me without actual words, but with a deep deep understanding of me and my needs…
The second lover, my tall handsome Carl, is intelligent and a romantic in the purest sense of the word. His written words alone already make me want to undress for him.
The third one, the newest, is Nicolas, funny and fresh (read young), and he knows how to play the game.
So to complete my Samantha Jones act, I need to feel sexy. Although I am not blond, tall, and skinny like my idol, but dark haired, short and voluptuous, I realised my body is my partner in crime, my instrument even.
It’s not so much about how it looks like, but more how I feel in it. This ‘wisdom’ I did not read in a magazine nor was given by some kind of lifestyle guru. No, I spent a couple of weeks at a Brazilian beach. Being stuck between zillions of trillions divine Brazilian bodies, I realised something. I was watching and feeling humble with my pale skinned, European office sculpted body. But the more I watched, the more I saw they were not so gorgeous as they seemed. They pretended to be gorgeous and adored every inch of every part of their body. They were parading on the beach thinking they were swimsuit models…
And the funny thing is, they became swimsuit models. And yes yes, I know it’s such a cliché, but really… try it!
Walk around like your God’s gift to man , and see what happens…