Trust me, I totally understand a lady's right to a little wink wink, nudge nudge. Sex, in a nutshell. It's just, normally, I like to at least know a person's name before I get a good look at their nethers.
I have to say, contrary to everything we're being told, after spending the last three months popping in and out of Muslim countries, my experience is that Muslims quite like jokes at their expense.
This all comes down to the same untruth: that female comedians are all the same, so if you don't find one of them funny, you don't find any of them funny.
If truth be told, it's about time I put myself back in the shop window for real now. No more excuses. No more "it's too soon", or "I've got to put the kids first", or even "I'll write a book about it instead of doing it for real".
I have two amazing, bright, funny, gorgeous boys,. One is eight and the other is six. Over the years they've said some weird and hilarious things - as I'm sure all kids do. Not being on social media yet, they won't have noticed that I've been documenting all of these conversations...
I was lying there in ecstasy, realising that existence and the formal projection of a self are distinctly separate and within the means of human control but all the time in the back of my mind I'm thinking "Does this make me French? Does this make me French?".
Neeson now seems to play roles that combine the everyday concerns of middle-age men (being a father and husband), a 'particular set of skills' (black-belt upf**kery), and under-the-radar sexism (women either need to be saved or simply don't feature) to box office success.
What? You just signed up for your first marathon? Well, high five #NewYearNewYou! You basically just filled in an online form and paid some money. Like, seriously, YOLO and stuff. Trust you're doing dry January and going organic while you're at it? OK, I'm kidding, but I do have some serious news. And you may have to sit down...
They tell me that I make them laugh. That say they like me. They tell me that I'm interesting, independent or 'unique'. (Which roughly translated means 'I'd rather take a bath in regurgitated cat sick than go out with you'.) However successful the dates, the follow up is much the same.
I'm also punishing myself each morning by doing 50 naked squats in a full-length mirror so I can witness the full horror of enjoying Milk Tray for breakfast, Ferrero Rocher for lunch and Christmas cake for dinner in HD.
Last year I was constantly not good enough. Not good enough at my job, my friends, my family, my looks. This year somethings gotta give and it really should be the self beating I keep knocking myself out with.
I am pressing on with my lonely foray into character comedy and writing what I hope might some day be the pilot of a sitcom - helped by Micheal Jacob, my writing mentor who has, so far never backed away from me in a social situation (although there's still time).
The clubs' owners are clearly hoping that if they just get enough women to passively wander in, the men will follow, pay their over-priced entrance fee and then proudly make the most of their gender pay gap to buy an abundance of drinks at the bar.
As such my only New Year's resolution is try to be nicer to people; a task that if undertaken by everyone all at once, might make this tumultuous lump of rock hurtling around an infinite, pointless expanse of space that we call home somewhat more bearable.
I spoke to two people, who were children in the past, about the awful time in their lives, when they owned stick insects. Sarah & Lizzie are real life sisters and perform inappropriate sketches, in a bid to win their mother's affection.
So apparently, sending out invites for Play Dates is a thing now. A card would save me the cringe-fest of saying the phrase out loud, I suppose, which totally makes my teeth itch. So twee! And it smacks of a type of hyper-scheduled, Alpha-parenting I'll never achieve.
A second motorist flashes me, then a third, this time with eye-melting LED headlights that emit more light than a nuclear explosion. In a state of high anxiety, overwhelmed by the mind-altering pain of the retinal burn, I consider the following possibilities...
Research suggests that as long as interesting, but probably factually inaccurate subheadings are used, writers can get away with putting irrelevant or even dangerous content on the internet.