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...

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!