An interesting state of affairs prevails. If I ever wanted to create an algorithm for how the universe works, now would not be the time.

Stephen Hawking might've succeeded in that department, but then he never dated.

For months, one might undergo a dry spell paralleling a famine of Biblical proportions, whereby the single person asks itself if they really are the last remaining of their species, and will I ever see a naked man again?

The others have sailed away in the Ark of Lost Hope, and you've not a drop to drink from the orifices of the opposite sex. In a manner of speaking.

When you've surrendered unto a life of cats and knitting, the universe suddenly shifts itself seismically. Whereby, out of nowhere, he-creatures tumble amok from sky, wooing you in, begging for your attention, like a clutch of dirty teenagers. The cup runneth over, and the luxury of choice is once again in your favour.

Men to juggle

'Where the hell have all the good men gone?' has turned into, 'Woah, I have three men to now juggle', at the flick of a switch.

Suddenly, they've emerged from their DVD and pizza nights, and luckily for them, they all ran straight into me.

The beauty of this scenario is simple: it ultimately means I can finally put my new courting rule into practice. Where I garner a handful of potential boyfriends and date them all at once.

The phrase 'potential boyfriend' must be emphasised, because as far as I'm concerned, one can date as many people as they like until they decide to run off into the sunset exclusively with just one.

It's not cheating; it's not even playing the field. It's called making a wise decision. And my dating repertoire could do with a bit of logical minded survival-of-the-fittest sound judgement, quite frankly.

How far are they willing to go?

It's all about far these men go in the hiring process. Perhaps after round four, for example, I'll discover that the only Latino contribution to Jose's gene pool is his penchant for Cuervo Gold.

In this case, I'd simply turn to Jack, who although not quite exotic as Jose, knows how to turn me on just by biting into an apple. Having a handful of pseudo-not-quite-the-real-deal boyfriends means that I will never rely on one for everything. At least not until it's safe.

I can ultimately relax. Why? Because I'll never become needy. My attention is divided and therefore diluted, so if one can't nip out to buy me a Woolies chocolate mousse in the dead of night, then chances are, the other one will.

To a lesser extent, if the one doesn't call me for a few days, the other one might. So it takes the heat off me, and it takes the heat off one man. It really is a win-win situation. A balancing act of pure perfection, if I don't say so myself.

Who's calling?

I'm new to this stuff, dating. In it's puristic form. When my phone rings, it's not 'That had better be Gary. If not, that's it. It's over'. When my phone rings, I think, 'I wonder if that's Spain, London or Durban?'

Spain will call first, then London. All adore me; and I adore them — all equally.

They all contribute something to the pie, the pie that forms my ultimate happiness. What's not to like?

It's not a matter of choosing too quickly or too soon either. There may be a lid for every pot, but why rush? They're the ones doing as much work as I am, and they don't even need to do that much.

When a woman attaches herself to one man, her synapses go into overdrive and she thinks about babies. All I'm thinking about is a double holiday and maybe a long weekend in Durban this year.

One mustn't take the fully stocked shelves of Y-Chromosomes at the ready for granted either. For as the universe sent me a couple of male canapés to keep me busy and happy, it can just as easily be taken away.

But for the moment, this little arrangement is working very, very nicely. And comes highly recommended.