Sunday, 1 September 2013
Four things I will not miss about being single
Will he reply? Won’t he reply? Did he realise that the comment I made about the level of time I spend in my pyjamas was definitely a joke and not evidence that I have mental health problems? Does he think my use of emoticons is excessive? Should I take his lacks of kisses as a sign that he despises me? Does the inclusion of two kisses mean he’s totally interested? Was that text message really meant for me? Am I leaving big enough gaps between my replies? If I use ellipses is he automatically going to assume that I'm up for it? What does ‘What are you up to?’ even mean? How specific should I be? ‘Just rustling up a pasta, sauce and cheese dinner' seems a bit dull but that is literally what I’m up to...
Marrying a man who only ever sends me texts to ask if we need anything from the supermarket or if he's free on an upcoming Saturday as he'd really like to go and watch some very dull-sounding rugby, will make the whole texting business a much simpler affair.
Sinead O'Connor, The Honeyz, Lionel Richie, Celine Dion, nineties boy band album tracks... they were all the soundtrack to years of sobbing into a pillow whenever the proverbial love train was taken out of service:
"Hello? Is it me you're looking for? WHY NOT I'M EXCELLENT AT CONVERSATION!"
"I know what the Backstreet Boys mean, I want it that way too! TELL ME WHY!"
"Please! [enter name of boy/man who decided his life would be less irritating without me] THINK TWICE, FOR THE SAKE OF OUR LOVE, FOR THE MEMORIES!"
"I go out every night and sleep all day, since you took your love away (although to be fair I am a student so I'd probably have been doing that anyway)."
Now I can just listen to these songs as they were supposed to be listened to: whilst dusting the coffee table of a Sunday morning and marvelling at my ability to hold the final TWIIIIIIIIIIIIIICE in Think Twice all the way through (with only three short breathing breaks).
3. Fashion faux pas
I’m not going to get married and then instantly stop shaving my legs, washing my face or changing my underwear (we've already been together eight years so that all stopped ages ago, right ladies?! HEY-O) but I am going to enjoy chilling-the-chuff-out about my wardrobe choices.
I spent years with my stomach in knots as I realised that of course all the other girls knew that this was clearly a tops and jeans event when I had decided to wear a psychedelic nylon dress, or that obviously fancy dress is an opportunity for girls to attempt to look sexy and not just wear pyjamas and claim to be the boy from The Snowman.
Surely once I'm married I can just wear what I want, where I want. And by what I mean my dressing gown and by where I mean EVERYWHERE.
4. Base chat
Nobody ever forgets being called the dreaded F word (which in this case is frigid, although fat, frumpy and freakishly tall are also rather nasty ones), especially when it's said by a person so unappealing that the world would be better off just coming to an end than using him to repopulate the earth. And so it comes as something of a relief to get married and move into the category of people whose love lives NOBODY wants to hear about.
As I have written before, there is nothing more awful or disgusting than the thought of people who are in a relationship - let alone married - partaking in bedroom-based activities. It is wrong and weird and enough to make a person vomit up their Monster Munch. I can do it or I cannot do it (or I can wait 'til all the housework is done to my satisfaction before even thinking about doing it like any normal person) and nobody need ever know.
Well, what a lovely note to end on! Blog fans, please note that I am taking a month off writing silly words for the purposes of having a wedding, a honeymoon and at least 30 days of marriage where I don't publicly mock my new husband for still being unable the bathroom light off...
See you in October!