Last week Grazia proudly continued in its fine tradition of chronicling the emotional difficulties of thirty and forty something ‘career women’ with ‘I HAD THERAPY FOR BEING UNDATEABLE.’ It made a nice change from the usual freezing your eggs/I aborted my only chance at a baby malarkey, but still, cop a gander at the standfirst:

‘While Inna Lomteva, 41, was beautiful and accomplished, she rarely got past a third date with a man. Here, she explains why her lack of dating luck drove her to some unusual therapy…’

It’s tantalising stuff. I don’t know about you, but I for one was curious to find out what it was that made (the very pleasant and affable looking) Inna so undateable. Could it be that she had experienced some terrible emotional trauma from which she had been unable to find closure, thus leading to an instinctive and long held distrust of men?

Could it be that she gets mouthy on the white wine and has some pretty dodgy views on immigrants and gay people that are ultimately incompatible with the capital’s metropolitan, left leaning dating pool of non-arseholes?

Could it be that she has a learning disability that has led her to be declared officially ‘undateable’ by cynical Channel 4 executives whose desperation for viewing figures and twitter feedback has outstripped any steps they may have otherwise made towards basic human empathy?

Well, no, it was none of those things. Inna was, in her own words, undateable because:

‘Friends were settling down, but all I ever did was work. I was earning six figures, but I knew that if I carried on as I was, I would never meet anyone. And so, at 38, I made the decision to go into business with a friend who runs a high-end fashion boutique.’

I’m not sure if it’s just the way that the piece has been edited, but it pretty much sounds as though she abandoned her career as an investment banker because it wasn’t conducive to meeting men. But maybe I read it wrong. Maybe she is, like so many of us, genuinely passionate about luxury leather pants.

She continues, or rather, the ghostwriting journalist does:

‘Yet I was still single! Date followed date, but none of them went anywhere…some friends suggested I dumb myself down to seem more approachable. But to me that wasn’t the answer.’

I like Inna. It doesn’t sound as though she takes any bullshit, and she certainly won’t pretend to be stupid in order to get a man. But then:

‘I met Elizabeth, a love coach, at a dinner party a year ago.’

Uh-oh.

‘After working in a masculine environment, she said, I was used to being assertive, sometimes even competitive…’

Assertive? Competitive? UH-OH.

Oh, hold on…

‘There’s nothing wrong with that’

That’s OK then.

‘but…’

Oh no.

‘…it coloured the way I behaved.’

Oh shit, no.

‘A man would tell me something, and sometimes I would come back with an opinion’

OH FUCK NO NOT AN OPINION

‘…when sometimes they just want you to listen’

NOT AN OPINION WHEN YOU SHOULD BE LISTENING! TOO MANY OPINIONS!!

Inna also says that she was told her emotional detachment was a factor. I’m surprised that more isn’t made of this, as anyone with half a brain and a ton of dating manuals knows that, career or no career, this is the biggest barrier to intimacy that there is (and if you’re wagging your finger and going ‘nuhuh girlfriend, it’s obvi texting him first and agreeing to a Saturday date later than a Wednesday’ then you need to pipe the fuck down) but then Inna says:

‘I believe in equality, but I also think…’

NOT THE BUT, PLEASE NOT THE BUT

‘…you can’t fight nature’

Someone please hold me

‘Some men need a degree of nurturing’

That’s it. That’s the silver bullet right there, the nurturing. Clearly Inna was going wrong by taking care of herself rather than taking care of men (her main role in life). Now that she’s met someone, I’m happy for her, I really am, but Grazia needs to stop publishing this shit before I have an aneurism.

Undateable? Unreadable. At least for anyone who doesn’t subscribe to the 1950s housewife model of relationships. Too many opinions. Fuck, man. I’m off to defrost my eggs, pronto. This soufflé needs to be ready for when my husband gets home.