Since my relationship ended back in February, I have been living at home with my parents again. It's good. I get on well with my mum and dad - much better than I did when I lived here as a teenager, that's for sure. My brothers are lovely and entertaining, and I love that there is always company around when I want it. My washing is done for me and my parents own a dishwasher (something I have never had in rented accommodation), as well as a corner bath where I spend many happy - and sometimes less happy - hours. I have a lot more creature comforts than I would do in my own place, and always have someone to talk to.
And yet... after five months, I have come up against a problem. The truth is, deep down, I am still scared of my mum. Not in the same way as I was as a teenager, when all we did was scream at each other... in fact, we get on really well now, and I ask her for her advice on things all the time. The problem is that, despite the fact I am 26 not sixteen, I'd really like my mum to believe I'm still a virgin.
This is ridiculous, of course. I have had more than one boyfriend to stay over in the last ten years, and I've actually lived with two of them. Plus there was the diary-reading incident of 2001 - we don't talk about it, but we both know it happened. But despite this, when The Man I Am Seeing invited me to his house for dinner and, more crucially, for breakfast, my first thought was, "How am I going to tell my mother?"
My mum is not naïve. When she was fourteen, she had a boyfriend with a car. A few years ago, my nan found a picture of her as a teenager snogging my dad on the lawn, and was very excited to show it to us... until it turned out not to be my dad. When I once asked her to tell me something I didn't know about her, she revealed she'd dated a Moroccan boy when she was fifteen (I have no idea how; she never went on holiday abroad and she wasn't exactly brought up somewhere multi-cultural). However, my mum and dad did meet when she was seventeen, get married when she was 21, and they are still together more than thirty years later. Like many women of her generation, she missed out on being both adult and single.
I am not talking here about "having needs". My god, I certainly wouldn't admit to a one night stand! But I just can't decide how to position the news that I am staying over with a man relatively early on in the relationship, and that's a shame because the truth is that I think this guy is someone really, really special, and my decision to stay has just a little bit to do with sex, and a lot to do with spending some quality time together (and the fact that he lives an hour and a half away, and I'd like to have a glass of wine). I could just tell her this, of course, but like my teenage self, I sometimes think the less said on these things the better. I'll probably just tell her not to wait up, and then run. At least now I'm old enough not to have to ask my dad for a lift...
Tuesday, 19 July 2011
Saturday, 2 July 2011
In which men are even more confusing than usual
Do you remember The Brazilian? Don't worry if not, I barely did. He's the sexy barman who asked me out and then disappeared off the face of the earth. At the time his disappearing act did upset me a bit, but three months on, I can't say I've been losing sleep over it. Or indeed thinking about it, ever, unless I'm talking to my single friends about the bizarre behaviour of men.
So I was surprised, to say the least, when he popped up on Facebook chat last week. I considered ignoring him, but curiosity got the better of me. Also, it did cross my mind that he might ask me out again, and I couldn't resist the potential opportunity to tell him to stick it. As it turned out, he wasn't planning to ask me out again, he was just dropping me a line to apologise for not calling me. (To reiterate, this was THREE MONTHS AGO.) In essence, he said I scared him off by being too keen. Now, this would not be entirely out of character for me. I'm sure I can come across as too keen, because when I like someone I do like to talk to them (astonishing, I'm sure you agree). However, that's not what happened with The Brazilian. What happened was that he asked me to a BBQ on a Sunday, and on the Friday I texted to ask him where it was, and he never spoke to me again. Was this wrong?! To ask where exactly I was meant to be and at what time for an event he'd already invited me to? I cannot help but feel that a man who is scared by a text message asking these questions may not be man enough for me. Presumably he is also scared of mice and spiders and the dark and hairbrushes, and that is not what I am looking for in a man, if I'm honest.
I wish I'd told him all this, but in the event I was so speechless over the whole thing I simply said it wasn't a big deal and then deleted him from Facebook. Effective, but not that satisfying.
Anyway, I thought that was probably my fair share of male weirdness for June, but then on Thursday, I received a text message out of the blue from Future Husband, simply saying, "I miss you, you know". Actually, I did not know, because after two great weeks of something vaguely resembling coupledom, he reduced his text traffic from two an hour to two a fortnight. I assumed he had lost interest, and realised I could do better. I momentarily questioned this decision, texting back, "Really?" to which I received a reply informing me that FH does "think about me on occasion". Unsurprisingly, this merely served to prove my point. I'm looking to be swept off my feet by a great wave of love. That was the romantic equivalent of standing in a rock pool with a dead crab.
The good news is, I have met someone who I like, and who I think might actually like me. We work together, sort of. There has been a coffee, and a lunch. We are making each other mix tapes. That's all I'm going to say for now, as I'm determined not to jinx it. But I promise if he disappears off the face of the earth, you'll be the first to know.
So I was surprised, to say the least, when he popped up on Facebook chat last week. I considered ignoring him, but curiosity got the better of me. Also, it did cross my mind that he might ask me out again, and I couldn't resist the potential opportunity to tell him to stick it. As it turned out, he wasn't planning to ask me out again, he was just dropping me a line to apologise for not calling me. (To reiterate, this was THREE MONTHS AGO.) In essence, he said I scared him off by being too keen. Now, this would not be entirely out of character for me. I'm sure I can come across as too keen, because when I like someone I do like to talk to them (astonishing, I'm sure you agree). However, that's not what happened with The Brazilian. What happened was that he asked me to a BBQ on a Sunday, and on the Friday I texted to ask him where it was, and he never spoke to me again. Was this wrong?! To ask where exactly I was meant to be and at what time for an event he'd already invited me to? I cannot help but feel that a man who is scared by a text message asking these questions may not be man enough for me. Presumably he is also scared of mice and spiders and the dark and hairbrushes, and that is not what I am looking for in a man, if I'm honest.
I wish I'd told him all this, but in the event I was so speechless over the whole thing I simply said it wasn't a big deal and then deleted him from Facebook. Effective, but not that satisfying.
Anyway, I thought that was probably my fair share of male weirdness for June, but then on Thursday, I received a text message out of the blue from Future Husband, simply saying, "I miss you, you know". Actually, I did not know, because after two great weeks of something vaguely resembling coupledom, he reduced his text traffic from two an hour to two a fortnight. I assumed he had lost interest, and realised I could do better. I momentarily questioned this decision, texting back, "Really?" to which I received a reply informing me that FH does "think about me on occasion". Unsurprisingly, this merely served to prove my point. I'm looking to be swept off my feet by a great wave of love. That was the romantic equivalent of standing in a rock pool with a dead crab.
The good news is, I have met someone who I like, and who I think might actually like me. We work together, sort of. There has been a coffee, and a lunch. We are making each other mix tapes. That's all I'm going to say for now, as I'm determined not to jinx it. But I promise if he disappears off the face of the earth, you'll be the first to know.
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.
Probably.
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...
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.
Probably.
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...
Sunday, 5 June 2011
In which love is in the air
Despite owning a pile of rom com DVDs as tall as I am, I'm struggling to think of any films where the main characters actually say the words "I love you". I suppose they don't need to - in the movies, all it takes is a kiss, or even just a look, and intentions are clear. In real life, intentions aren't necessarily so clear, even to the person who says those three little words. Maybe you know that you love a person, and have been waiting for the perfect moment to tell them; maybe you are scared you will lose them, and say it to stay on the safe side; or maybe the words just slip out, while you're, ahem, otherwise engaged.
Yes, I told Future Husband I loved him. Yes, I did it while my mind was on other things. Yes, that is a euphemism. I don't know who was more surprised, me or him. I suspect me. Where the hell did that come from? Afterwards, I put it down to a strong friendship and even stronger hormones, and he was gracious enough to let me, but I worry that now I've said it, I've played my hand far, far too early. It didn't put either of us off our stride at the time, and in fact we had another wonderful weekend, filled with kisses, dopey grins, red wine and pizza eaten in bed. Now though a week has passed, and I have barely heard from him. This first bit of a relationship has always been my favourite, but I'm beginning to think I've finally grown up - I'm missing the security of knowing how someone feels about me, and I'm bored of game playing.
Three days and two hundred and fifty miles after my indiscretion, I watched two people who have done away with all the games pledge their undying love to each other. Forces Wife is now a real wife, having tied the knot with her lovely man under an uncharacteristically blaring sun in a pretty Northern seaside town. She looked so beautiful and happy it brought tears to my eyes, and I even forgot to be jealous (for most of the day, anyway). This couple have got love and happiness nailed. They know they have faults, but adore each other all the same. They are independent, but happiest together. They respect each other, and respect their relationship. They would never do anything to hurt each other, because they know how lucky they are to have found one another.
Watching them smiling their way through a clumsy first dance routine, oblivious to anyone but each other and just so happy to be together, I thought of us ten years ago, where every relationship was a drama and we never thought we'd find true love. I'm thrilled that things have changed for at least one of us!
Yes, I told Future Husband I loved him. Yes, I did it while my mind was on other things. Yes, that is a euphemism. I don't know who was more surprised, me or him. I suspect me. Where the hell did that come from? Afterwards, I put it down to a strong friendship and even stronger hormones, and he was gracious enough to let me, but I worry that now I've said it, I've played my hand far, far too early. It didn't put either of us off our stride at the time, and in fact we had another wonderful weekend, filled with kisses, dopey grins, red wine and pizza eaten in bed. Now though a week has passed, and I have barely heard from him. This first bit of a relationship has always been my favourite, but I'm beginning to think I've finally grown up - I'm missing the security of knowing how someone feels about me, and I'm bored of game playing.
Three days and two hundred and fifty miles after my indiscretion, I watched two people who have done away with all the games pledge their undying love to each other. Forces Wife is now a real wife, having tied the knot with her lovely man under an uncharacteristically blaring sun in a pretty Northern seaside town. She looked so beautiful and happy it brought tears to my eyes, and I even forgot to be jealous (for most of the day, anyway). This couple have got love and happiness nailed. They know they have faults, but adore each other all the same. They are independent, but happiest together. They respect each other, and respect their relationship. They would never do anything to hurt each other, because they know how lucky they are to have found one another.
Watching them smiling their way through a clumsy first dance routine, oblivious to anyone but each other and just so happy to be together, I thought of us ten years ago, where every relationship was a drama and we never thought we'd find true love. I'm thrilled that things have changed for at least one of us!
Sunday, 22 May 2011
In which I wonder what exactly is going on
We all know that there are rules around dating... but does anyone have the faintest clue what they actually are? I only ask because I have no idea what I'm doing.
Yesterday I went on a second date with Good On Paper Guy. Yes, a second date, despite the fact that I didn't really want to go on the first one. You may assume that when we met for drinks the first time, my reservations were cast aside and the sparks flew. You would be wrong. The date was perfectly nice, but I still didn't fancy him. The reason I went out with him a second time was that he was persistent, and I'm too polite to say no. Having attempted to avoid the situation with a variety of transparent excuses, I eventually bumped into him in the pub on Friday night, where he said "So are you going to let me take you out again?" and I found myself saying "What about lunch?"
Lunch was undeniably lovely. We went to a Michelin starred restaurant and sat outside in the sunshine drinking wine and eating amazing food. He was sweet and entertaining and interesting, and refused to let me pay my share despite the fact the bill came to more than £70. (In fact, there's a good rule for men to look out for - if I'm insistent about paying my share, it's because I don't plan to see you again and don't want to take advantage.) The trouble is, what if he asks me out again? What can I say? Ending a relationship is one thing, but admitting you don't even want to see how things might progress seems really cruel. On the other hand, I'd really rather that I didn't end up marrying him out of politeness.
In other news, Future Husband returned from his holiday with a beautiful framed print he had bought me in an antique shop, and we spent a happy afternoon kissing like teenagers. Meanwhile, we absolutely failed to discuss any elements of what's going on between us, which is odd because we talk about everything, all the time. To further complicate matters, I've spent so much time being indoctrinated by elements of The Rules that I have now developed a phobia of texting or calling a man, even if I have known that man for more than two decades. If you think that sounds mad, it gets worse: I haven't even read The Rules, somehow I've just learned them via osmosis. My loved-up friends think I'm mental, but if a potential date is going to disappear off the face of the earth (as seems to happen to single friends, male and female, with alarming regularity), I'd much rather that he didn't realise I was interested in the first place. Of course if you're genuinely not interested, men will behave like perfect gentlemen, with regular, witty texts and expensive lunches.
If dating is a game, does anyone happen to know how one would go about winning it?
Yesterday I went on a second date with Good On Paper Guy. Yes, a second date, despite the fact that I didn't really want to go on the first one. You may assume that when we met for drinks the first time, my reservations were cast aside and the sparks flew. You would be wrong. The date was perfectly nice, but I still didn't fancy him. The reason I went out with him a second time was that he was persistent, and I'm too polite to say no. Having attempted to avoid the situation with a variety of transparent excuses, I eventually bumped into him in the pub on Friday night, where he said "So are you going to let me take you out again?" and I found myself saying "What about lunch?"
Lunch was undeniably lovely. We went to a Michelin starred restaurant and sat outside in the sunshine drinking wine and eating amazing food. He was sweet and entertaining and interesting, and refused to let me pay my share despite the fact the bill came to more than £70. (In fact, there's a good rule for men to look out for - if I'm insistent about paying my share, it's because I don't plan to see you again and don't want to take advantage.) The trouble is, what if he asks me out again? What can I say? Ending a relationship is one thing, but admitting you don't even want to see how things might progress seems really cruel. On the other hand, I'd really rather that I didn't end up marrying him out of politeness.
In other news, Future Husband returned from his holiday with a beautiful framed print he had bought me in an antique shop, and we spent a happy afternoon kissing like teenagers. Meanwhile, we absolutely failed to discuss any elements of what's going on between us, which is odd because we talk about everything, all the time. To further complicate matters, I've spent so much time being indoctrinated by elements of The Rules that I have now developed a phobia of texting or calling a man, even if I have known that man for more than two decades. If you think that sounds mad, it gets worse: I haven't even read The Rules, somehow I've just learned them via osmosis. My loved-up friends think I'm mental, but if a potential date is going to disappear off the face of the earth (as seems to happen to single friends, male and female, with alarming regularity), I'd much rather that he didn't realise I was interested in the first place. Of course if you're genuinely not interested, men will behave like perfect gentlemen, with regular, witty texts and expensive lunches.
If dating is a game, does anyone happen to know how one would go about winning it?
Monday, 16 May 2011
In which I wonder what it means to be single
It is three months since the Former Love of my Life and I made the decision to split up, and it feels like three years. I still feel like I'm drowning if I think about him too much... but I've realised that I'm going to be ok. I don't know when, or if, I'll ever wake up and not care about him, but I've realised that even when something heartbreaking happens, life is good. And I've learnt a few things about being single:
1. Girlfriends are the best. A girlfriend told me that the only possible reason that The Brazilian hadn't called is that he'd died. When I told her he'd updated his Facebook profile that morning, she told me I was in denial. I laughed so much I forgot to be sad.
2. You have more friends than you think. I have driven to Wales to spend the bank holiday with a dreadlocked uni friend, been clubbing with a girl I haven't seen since I was 10 and her hilarious friends, watched the Royal Wedding with friends I've seen every few months since I was four, and been to a gig with a Twitter friend I'd never met before. And that's just the start of it.
3. You meet men everywhere - but you might not care. When I was in a relationship, I thought I might be missing something, or someone. Now I realise I probably wasn't. There are gorgeous, kind, sweet men everywhere (as well as some grade A tossers) but most of them aren't for me. I'll wait for someone exceptional, thanks very much.
4. Bathtimes are depressing. God knows why, but I've lost count of the number of times I found myself crying in the bath. Often I accompanied the crying by mournfully singing Adele songs. Maybe it's a rite of passage for the broken hearted. Exercise damage limitation and don't take a glass of Pinot to the bathroom with you.
5. On a related note, Pinot is depressing too. Drink Martinis instead. You might fall off your stilettos and graze your knees like a schoolchild (hypothetically, of course) but you're less likely to end up sobbing under the duvet.
6. You can be really, really selfish. It's awesome. When I was in a relationship, mine was the "sensible car", with five seats and boot space. I've since bought an apple green convertible. I also bought clothes I knew my ex would hate, and had my hair cut the way I wanted it for the first time. Can you believe I'd never decided on my own hair cut without wondering if a guy would like it? Jeeeeezus.
7. You will remember what you actually like. I have listened to Adele's new album pretty much every day, I have watched the Sex and the City movie about six times, and I've filled the gaps in between with the Cold Feet box set and a pile of books. Oddly enough, I haven't watched a single episode of Top Gear.
8. You can plan for a future which is all about you. Yes, I hope to get married one day, but before then I plan to buy my own flat, with money I have saved up, and decorate it however I like. Pink, probably.
9. You should buy a Rabbit. Don't ask questions, just do it.
10. Being single is a permanent state of hopefulness. You could meet your next Great Love anywhere you look. He might be your best friend, or the guy you meet at the bar, or someone you work with, or the drummer in the band, or Prince Harry. Tonight might be the night you meet him. Or it might just be the night you drink fifteen Martinis and graze both your knees.
1. Girlfriends are the best. A girlfriend told me that the only possible reason that The Brazilian hadn't called is that he'd died. When I told her he'd updated his Facebook profile that morning, she told me I was in denial. I laughed so much I forgot to be sad.
2. You have more friends than you think. I have driven to Wales to spend the bank holiday with a dreadlocked uni friend, been clubbing with a girl I haven't seen since I was 10 and her hilarious friends, watched the Royal Wedding with friends I've seen every few months since I was four, and been to a gig with a Twitter friend I'd never met before. And that's just the start of it.
3. You meet men everywhere - but you might not care. When I was in a relationship, I thought I might be missing something, or someone. Now I realise I probably wasn't. There are gorgeous, kind, sweet men everywhere (as well as some grade A tossers) but most of them aren't for me. I'll wait for someone exceptional, thanks very much.
4. Bathtimes are depressing. God knows why, but I've lost count of the number of times I found myself crying in the bath. Often I accompanied the crying by mournfully singing Adele songs. Maybe it's a rite of passage for the broken hearted. Exercise damage limitation and don't take a glass of Pinot to the bathroom with you.
5. On a related note, Pinot is depressing too. Drink Martinis instead. You might fall off your stilettos and graze your knees like a schoolchild (hypothetically, of course) but you're less likely to end up sobbing under the duvet.
6. You can be really, really selfish. It's awesome. When I was in a relationship, mine was the "sensible car", with five seats and boot space. I've since bought an apple green convertible. I also bought clothes I knew my ex would hate, and had my hair cut the way I wanted it for the first time. Can you believe I'd never decided on my own hair cut without wondering if a guy would like it? Jeeeeezus.
7. You will remember what you actually like. I have listened to Adele's new album pretty much every day, I have watched the Sex and the City movie about six times, and I've filled the gaps in between with the Cold Feet box set and a pile of books. Oddly enough, I haven't watched a single episode of Top Gear.
8. You can plan for a future which is all about you. Yes, I hope to get married one day, but before then I plan to buy my own flat, with money I have saved up, and decorate it however I like. Pink, probably.
9. You should buy a Rabbit. Don't ask questions, just do it.
10. Being single is a permanent state of hopefulness. You could meet your next Great Love anywhere you look. He might be your best friend, or the guy you meet at the bar, or someone you work with, or the drummer in the band, or Prince Harry. Tonight might be the night you meet him. Or it might just be the night you drink fifteen Martinis and graze both your knees.
Sunday, 8 May 2011
In which I agree to a date I don't really want to go on
I've been a bit quiet of late, what with the two bank holiday weekends, a trip to Wales, a hen do, a new car and a promotion all happening in the last two weeks! I've been far too busy writing angry letters to banks and insurance companies (a bit of a speciality of mine - I should start a sideline in professional complaints) to have any time left over for blogging, and with so much going on, I haven't really known where to start...
Future Husband* went on holiday last week, but spent the whole week texting me. When he got back, we spent nearly two hours on the phone. I even told Forces Wife about my feelings for him, as he was her first love, and under normal circumstances I wouldn't go near a friend's ex for all the shoes in Louboutin. She told me to go for it, bless her. I didn't think she'd be upset, especially considering that she is marrying a wonderful man is in less than a month, but I felt very uneasy about it all the same. It's a weight off my shoulders to have her blessing.
So FH and I are slowly maneuvering our twenty-two year relationship into new and much more dangerous waters. I haven't seen him since our amazing weekend together, partly due to his holiday, and partly due to the fact that (I have now remembered) he is wholly unreliable. I was supposed to be seeing him today in fact, but he went out last night and didn't wake up until three. Maybe this is why we're not together! Still, I'm excited to see where this might go, despite the fact he's a mature student who's incapable of setting an alarm.
In the meantime, I found myself agreeing to a date with a man who is incredibly Good On Paper. I met him at birthday drinks for one of my lovely colleagues, we hit it off, and the following day he asked my friend for my number and texted to ask me out. He's thirty-something, works in IT, drives a BMW, owns his own flat... and I don't fancy him at all. It's not that he's unattractive - he's actually lovely, and really fit - but I'm just not feeling the spark. However, in the name of playing the dating game, I found myself saying yes to post-work drinks next week. It doesn't sit that well with me considering the situation with FH, but that's almost why I agreed to it - it would be easy to start treating FH as a boyfriend, and he isn't. Yet. Still, I feel a bit bad for leading Good On Paper Guy on when I'm fairly certain there won't be a second date, but isn't that what being single is all about? Meeting people, having a laugh, enjoying each other's company for a while...
So we shall see. Neither the date with Good On Paper Guy nor the next meeting with Future Husband have been confirmed yet, and with my recent track record I won't be putting any money on either of them actually taking place!
*I'm beginning to wish I'd chosen a different moniker... 'Future Husband' has lost its irony in recent weeks!
Future Husband* went on holiday last week, but spent the whole week texting me. When he got back, we spent nearly two hours on the phone. I even told Forces Wife about my feelings for him, as he was her first love, and under normal circumstances I wouldn't go near a friend's ex for all the shoes in Louboutin. She told me to go for it, bless her. I didn't think she'd be upset, especially considering that she is marrying a wonderful man is in less than a month, but I felt very uneasy about it all the same. It's a weight off my shoulders to have her blessing.
So FH and I are slowly maneuvering our twenty-two year relationship into new and much more dangerous waters. I haven't seen him since our amazing weekend together, partly due to his holiday, and partly due to the fact that (I have now remembered) he is wholly unreliable. I was supposed to be seeing him today in fact, but he went out last night and didn't wake up until three. Maybe this is why we're not together! Still, I'm excited to see where this might go, despite the fact he's a mature student who's incapable of setting an alarm.
In the meantime, I found myself agreeing to a date with a man who is incredibly Good On Paper. I met him at birthday drinks for one of my lovely colleagues, we hit it off, and the following day he asked my friend for my number and texted to ask me out. He's thirty-something, works in IT, drives a BMW, owns his own flat... and I don't fancy him at all. It's not that he's unattractive - he's actually lovely, and really fit - but I'm just not feeling the spark. However, in the name of playing the dating game, I found myself saying yes to post-work drinks next week. It doesn't sit that well with me considering the situation with FH, but that's almost why I agreed to it - it would be easy to start treating FH as a boyfriend, and he isn't. Yet. Still, I feel a bit bad for leading Good On Paper Guy on when I'm fairly certain there won't be a second date, but isn't that what being single is all about? Meeting people, having a laugh, enjoying each other's company for a while...
So we shall see. Neither the date with Good On Paper Guy nor the next meeting with Future Husband have been confirmed yet, and with my recent track record I won't be putting any money on either of them actually taking place!
*I'm beginning to wish I'd chosen a different moniker... 'Future Husband' has lost its irony in recent weeks!
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