I’ve decided to send a donation to ‘The Silver Ring Thing’.

There seem to be two good reasons for this.

Firstly, no matter how I wretchedly cling on to the last vestiges of youth cool I ever possessed, I have to accept that I’ve reached an age where teenage girls are unlikely to want to shag me. And I don’t see why everybody else should have all the fun.

Secondly, my own teenage years were sparse on the lurve front. Being a dweeb-boy with a mullet and ZX Spectrum fixation didn’t really do it for the ladies.

Being a member of the Silver Ring Thing crew would have given me dignity. I could have been all smug in the knowledge that not poking all the girls in the street was MY CHOICE and THEIR LOSS.

I could have used it to create an aura of self-assuredness. Cool. Relaxed about the whole dating thing.

I would have been regarded as a challenge.

Sat on the sofa, explaining in detail the best way through ‘Eugene’s Lair’, I would catch her eye. And I’d know that she’d be thinking: “let’s see just how committed he REALLY is”.

I’d glance down at my silver ring, look quickly away, catch her eye again then look quickly away again.

And then I would act all startled when she made the inevitable lunge. And then look thoughtful and say: “well, Shazza/Kaz/Tracey H, I guess you’re the one”. And I’d hurl the ring far away out of the window, before giving her a good seeing to. Or a crap seeing to, if I’m honest.

Then she’d leave, and I’d grab a new ring from my big collection of spares.

So I think the Ring Thing is a good idea.

As well as helping middle-class music-teacher parents feel even more smug about their objectionable offspring, it provides a window of opportunity for the poor geek boy, who will otherwise grow up bitter, insecure and with isshhoes.

Perhaps I should let it go.

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