‘Hump and Dump’ I got it straight away when Eva, one of my Pretend Daughters, first used the phrase last weekend when she came to stay for a couple of nights to re-trench and recover from the rigours of life on the battlefield of Romance.
But first I had better explain what I mean by a Pretend Daughter. Having spent my youth campaigning for the cause of ‘The Women’s Liberation Army’ aka the feminist sisterhood long before it was deemed filmic, I had, somewhere along the way, as a postcard of the time, depicting a carefree woman in 50’s evening dress with long gloves on, hand clasped to mouth: “Forgotten to Have a Baby!” Consequently I have a tendency to adopt passing young women and use them as Pretend Daughters to offer my soul a substitute for unfulfilled maternal yearnings.
The useful thing is, as a post long relationship returner to the Dating World, or, as my sister would have it, an Ancient Teenager, my Pretend Daughters and I, have a lot in common and swap love and horror stories on a regular basis. It was Eva’s no-nonsense quick hop onto Match, actually, that finally got me to quit stalling and get online and start dating again.
Back, then, to the glorious term, ‘Hump and Dump’. Eva is in her late 20’s and had been dating for a number of years, unable to find the right boyfriend. She had recently been repeatedly subject to this vile sounding and upsetting practise in the name of being a thoroughly modern liberated young woman.
When she arrived for the weekend visit she was hurt and miserable. Eva is a part time teacher and kayak instructor with lots of energy and creativity, lots of friends and an adventurous spirit. But she was flat and empty, like a pooch with tail between its legs and flat ears from her most recent romantic outings. It was the second time a promising friendship with a man had slid, segued and seemed to progress from hanging out together to bedroom antics-or as Ricardo, our diminutive handyman in the vintage boutique where I am sometimes gainfully employed, puts it: Hanky Panky. Problem is when the Hanky Panky is done, there is, you guessed it, only HANKIES and sniffling into them.
Eva was left crumpling hers while the lovely dread-locked surfer and the promising van-dwelling traveller DJ with the dog that needed walking, both in turn oozed off muttering apologies that “I’m er…. just not ready for a relationship…..” When the 2nd chap did the same she was left wondering what was wrong with her. She needed 2 days of Godmother talk before she was ready to go out of the pits and hit the racetrack again.
Armed with knowledge from my extensive reading about dating and mating over the past year of my novitiate in the internet dating world, I knew the solution. Quite simple in theory but difficult to put into practise in these days of blurring of the lines between courtship, sex and marriage. In the 1950’s all would have been clear but in the 70’s and beyond, with the advent of The Pill and the escape from cultural constraints freedom hasgone to our heads, and we have forgotten the simple rule: Date before you mate.
Now I do love, as a Leo, dishing out advice, that sadly, is not based on the experience of using it and winning, but on the desire to avoid the crucifixion of losing the battle to get a steady boyfriend. Never fear, I am still out there, fighting what I fear will be a losing battle to turn a gentleman ‘friend with benefits’ into a kosher boyfriend. Sigh! Yes, I too, dear reader, have been a victim of the glorious ‘Hump and Dump’. So, take the advice from someone who doesn’t wish to repeat the experience. My sage with SXMAN1 continues… but that, as they say, is another story.
Back to my pretend daughter Eva, over a walk in the Autumn forests, I imparted to her my not entirely novel set of guidelines for the modern woman of any age – the 10 date rule as outlined in ‘It’s Only a Date’ by Greg Behrendt. This rule takes us back to the importance of getting to know your date for at least 3 months before jumping into bed with them. It’s become de rigeur to be ultra-easy going about sex and, as a liberated independence loving feline female this was something I was all for. Any advice about waiting seemed dangerously close to the old fashioned conservative advice dished out in a patriarchal rather patronising fashion to us young maidens in the late 1970’s- my family GP, for example said -‘He won’t respect you if you sleep with him.’ I was outraged about this from the point of view of suggesting that sexual desire should be something that we should be ashamed of and also that it had to be held on to like a prize for the worthy. I was 17 and thought I knew better.
Women should be able to express their sexuality freely without fear of censure, yes, but now scientific research has informed what always felt vaguely but somehow ungraspably true, there are hormonal differences between the sexes and we females need time to ascertain whether our paramour is a ‘secure attachment’ or an ‘avoidant attachment’ specimen before we risk the kind of oxytocin fuelled bonding, that may not be mutual, that is brought about by sharing beds and bodies.
So, as you are a beautiful female Spirit in the body of a Goddess……make him prove he is your designated boyfriend, and wait. Unless of course you are a sex starved vixen like I was after 5 years, yes you did read that right, (what can I say? I was experimenting with my lifestyle) and got a crush on one of my local provisions providers, who shall be nameless. Still the dear man led me back into fresh pastures.
Eva has been following my advice and insisted that the latest man who was interested in her, not only waits, but also asks her out for a proper date. He laughed but when he saw she was serious not only agreed but rather liked it too. She’s getting phone calls everyday and even a little present.
Goodbye Hump and Dump, hello Lady Eva.