I realised today that everybody, at least once in their lives, has a Dave. I don’t mean a balding cockney geezer, first name Dagenham, trying to sell you products that have “fallen off the back of a lorry”, or other such ludicrous stereotypes.
In my social group, ‘Dave’ became used as a generic term to refer to other halves, male or female, when we were struggling to keep up with everyone’s names. My own ‘Dave’, long since chucked, has recently gained the prefix of “Creepy”. And yes, every time I see him, I do have that “what was I thinking?” moment. Particularly when he is fashioning flip flops, shorts and a wifebeater in March. Any chance to get his “guns” out. (Far be it from me to make a comment about them being the only bit of him worth seeing....)
I digress. My point was, the “Dave” label has come to be associated, in my twisted subconscious, with relationships that mean nothing. My own Dave was just someone who happened to be there when I fancied a summer fling (and I don’t ‘fling’ very often). And I’m certain I meant the same to him. And the more I think about it the more I realise that everyone seems to have these relationships which mean nothing, except having someone there, so what is the point in them? A bit of fun perhaps? A confidence booster? Whilst I don’t regret my summer fling, I do regret who it was with-why did I spend so much time with someone who meant nothing to me? Yet I can’t guarantee that I’d never go for another Dave in the future, was I lacking anyone who actually meant anything.
So in the same way that Phoebe Buffay concludes everyone has a ”lobster”, I have come to the conclusion that everyone, wittingly or otherwise, has a Dave, be it for better or worse.