Saturday, 18 June 2011

In which I try to move on (in more ways than one)

That's that, then. It would appear that my involvement with Future Husband is over before it even really started. He might be my oldest and best male friend, but he's crappy boyfriend material. Aside from the fact that he's barely texted me for three weeks, there are the following reasons: he was three hours late to an event we went to last weekend, having woken up a mere thirty minutes before I was due to collect him from the station, an hour and a half away; he is a hypochondriac who reckons he has cholera when he in fact has a slightly dodgy stomach (I'd like to think he was joking, but I'm not sure); and he managed to keep me up-to-date on his recent job hunt and coinciding life-threatening illness without once asking me how I was (since you ask, I had tuberculosis).

We haven't actually discussed the demise of this phase of our relationship, but then we didn't discuss the start of it either, which could possibly be why we ended up as 'friends with benefits' for two months, rather than any sort of proper couple. I'm not going to deny the quality of those benefits, but it wasn't quite what I had in mind. Still, I am sure that we will stay friends and laugh about this in years to come.


Anyway, as a result of these realisations and the fact that I have been out every night this week, I found myself with a very quiet weekend on the horizon, so I decided to make a start on the flat hunt. For years now I have been saving my pennies in a variety of ISAs and e-savings accounts, and thanks to the generosity of my parents, who have let me live at home for years without contributing more than the odd loaf of bread, I now have quite a bit saved. Thanks to my recent promotion, I'm also in a position to get a mortgage (terrifyingly, they seem to think I'm actually 'a good asset' - I did not wear my Kurt Geigers to the meeting). So this morning I headed off to my chosen location to visit lots of estate agents. One or two of them actually listened to my specifications - safe area, parking, bath, and balcony/direct access to gardens - and led me to the conclusion that I will easily snap up a place of my own. Just as soon as I've saved another twenty thousand pounds, plus money for fees. Like I said, easy.

So you see? I don't need a man. Not even a little bit. I am an Independent Woman, as Beyoncé would say. My life is fabulous and full and I am happy and healthy (apart from the TB) and my future is full of excitement.

And besides, there's this cute new guy at the office...

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