...an ode to fallen Saturday night pleasures

Allow me this moment, if you will, to mourn the tragic demise of a once glorious yet delightfully sinful Saturday night institution. The one night stand or ONS for short was once a majestic thing of indulgent beauty. An honourable lonely-hearts passtime with a clear and concise code of conduct, rules and acceptable etiquette.

The beauty of the ONS lay in its ability to deliver highly satisfying, albeit fleeting, returns at minimal time, effort and false-promises input requirements.

The ONS could always be relied upon to come the heroic rescue of any lonely, single, overworked or heavily intoxicated woman whose Ken-Doll happens to live a seven hour drive away from where she does.


The rules were simple, the recollection of events often dodgy and morality indeed questionable….
Boy would meet girl.
Girl would refuse him the time of day citing her undying love and commitment to her one true love as being strong and unwavering.
Girl would then suddenly be hit by a slicing pang in the pits of her stomach as she realises just how far the Ken-Doll lives and how seldom she sees him. She would surprise both him and herself by being able to calculate, from the top of her head, the precise amount of time in milliseconds which has passed since she last felt the thrill of being in the arms of another.
Girl would order a more manly drink, drink deeply from her glass and tell the bar tender to keep them coming.
She’d then wake up at the crack of dawn with a sudden, yet hazy, realisation of what just happened. They’d say an awkward goodbye at her door with her leaning in for a hug and a kiss while he offers his hand to her for a friendly hand-shake.
The end….


Or so it should have been!!!

Alas dear blogger as I sit here writing this posting (tears in my eyes and GnT on the ready) I am sad to report that a great hero is fallen.

Gone is the endless wondering of what could or could not have been, the subsequent shacking it off as if nothing happened and finally the storing away of the whole experience in your extensive archive of “things to never think about again”.

Not only does the “guy” of today attempt to sleep in and chat away with you merrily over a hearty breakfast. He also stores your phone number as “cup cakes” and makes a mental note to call you during every waking hour of the every day thereafter. He also notes his intention to tell you he loves you a week later and to send sms’s which are sure to cause a stir in you dealings with the Ken-Doll.

The question, however, is what is a girl to do when the “guy” insists on desplaying such slanderous disrespect for rules and standing tradition ….