When you’ve been single as long as someone like me, you begin to collect an EasyJet size amount of emotional baggage. It’s the high heels and snow jackets poking out the sides and refusing to squeeze in that become excuses and reasons for relationships ending before they’ve even begun or making these men and often myself lost in the transit of love.
1. First off – guys that are smaller than me. I can’t cope. I went out with a guy exactly height, I’m pretty sure I developed an eating disorder, an affliction to heels and hunched back within minutes. As I was staring at our legs on the couch watching tele one afternoon I realized my calves were in fact longer than his and I felt like an oversized-oaf-woman and this would have to end.
2. Most people think I’m weird. Correction – a lot of men think I’m weird – especially the ones I date. I don’t want to tell you just how many men have said to me on the first, third or fifth date “You’re weird” because I know that most of you know that I’m not. There’s a hundred other words out there to describe me and I don’t want to be with someone who thinks I’m odd.
3. After the third date you never hear from them again. I thought this stuff only happened in movies and books or to other people, not me. I watched guys smile, laugh and perfect their game right into my ‘This guy’s perfect!’ stupid heart, to then drop off the face of the Northern hemisphere earth. I think I’m a pretty good judge of Disney character but apparently I’m more of a stupid Snow White eating poisoned apples than I thought.
4. What are we exactly: Are we dating? Are we exclusive? Are we boyfriend, girlfriend? How am I supposed to introduce you at a party? It’s enough to make me want to bury my head in a pillow and wake up single again or arrange married. I’ve changed my Facebook relationship status to only change it back two weeks later when we broke up. It’s confusing, it’s nerve racking, no-one wants to jump in first and you’d better hope you’re synchronised swimming on these thoughts or one of you is going to look like a speedo wearing idiot.
5. I’m terrified of ever living with a boyfriend again. I’ve tried and tested this Martha Stewart business and entered with sharing couches and finances aplomb. It quickly turned into a cleaning and monetary debt of squabbles and separate beds and I had to ask myself “Seriously is this it?!” Martha Stewart, my baked bottom. It became a burnt batch of cookies that blackened my heart and baking tray forever.
So cross check those worry doors for taking off, watch the love safety jacket demonstration and don’t worry about it all too much. As they tell me when you meet the right one you won’t need that oxygen mask that drops down from above. (964)