(NB 1. Keen followers of my blog will note that I have come full circle from the entry of January 2010. I shall try to stop being girly and return to my higher self for the next entry, but for now… indulge me. This is what’s on my mind right now.)
(NB 2. I am in two minds whether or not I will actually publish this blog. The characters are all too real and any relation to actual events isn’t a coincidence at all. The chances are I’ll be too terribly pleased with my wittiness to leave it in the virtual drawer – and if I had, you wouldn’t be reading this paragraph anyway, so it’s a moo point – but still, you know. My finger is hovering with trepidation over the 'publish post' button.
So, in short... if you read this, and you recognise yourself, or think you recognise yourself… you’ll know I fancy you a bit. Don’t go getting too big-headed, though, chances are I’ve changed my mind by now. Ah, Johanna, fickleness is my middle name.) (Well, actually my middle name is something else entirely, but that’s a whole other story.)
I don’t want a boyfriend. I really, really don’t. If I keep telling myself that enough times, sooner or later I’ll believe it, right? No, really – I do mean it. I don’t want a boyfriend, and the reasons for this are as follows:
1. It’s so much less hassle not having to worry about someone else’s opinion of me all the live-long day. I know that if I was a balanced and well-rounded individual, then having a boyfriend wouldn’t need to mean that that was what I ended up doing. But it turns out, I’m not so well-rounded. When it comes to men, as I think I’ve mentioned before, I’m a bit of a mentalist. I don’t think it helps that, for reasons of fate or personality or some crushing combination of the two, I am nearly always sat next to my phone or a computer, so that when someone messages me, I’ll usually reply in about 3 seconds, and I can never *quite* get my head around why other people don’t do the same. So if I’ve, say, texted someone and I’m expecting a reply of some sort, it feels like a very deep and personal rejection if I’ve not had a reply within 15 minutes. Twenty if the recipient having an operation. I know this is unreasonable. I’ve tried to reason with myself. But I never listen and instead, when I’m texting the object of my affection, instead of it being a pleasant and witty exchange of viewpoints, it becomes a nerve-fraught salsa dance along the highest of wires. I might try to delay my own reply, just so I can revel in the feeling of it being my turn, of me having the power for a bit, but I ultimately feel like that’s playing games – and aren’t we all a bit too old of those kind of shenanigans these days?
2. I can sleep so much better alone. I can listen to an audio book without feeling shamed for this slightly nerdy addiction I have and without quibbling over which book to listen to. I don’t need to worry about snoring (mine or the other’s), I can listen to my radio and I can cuddle Joseph Fiennes bear. When I’m sharing a bed with a man, I inevitably sleep badly, get either paranoid or pissed off about snoring and feel that I have to tiptoe around in the mornings when I inevitably wake up four hours before he does, which always royally irritates me.
3. I just don’t get men. I was tempted to write that all men are bastards, but that’s not true, I know that really. There’s at least three of you I can bring to mind of whom I’m reasonably fond, ah ha de ha ha. (Just kidding.) (I hate all of you really.) (No, honestly – I am just joking.) However, I do think John Gray was right. The male population may as well be from Mars as far as I’m concerned. They all seem to think so differently from me, and I’m exhausted from too many years of trying to change my thought patterns to fit in with these alien rhythms. It’s hard to put my finger on exactly what it is, but I just don’t look at the world in the way that most men I’ve encountered in a romantic setting (and maybe that is the key?) seem to. Myself, I understand. My friends – even my male ones, as long as I’m not trying to kiss them – I understand. Living a life populated by just myself and my friends makes perfect sense to me. If you introduce a man, I start to get confused. I don’t know which way is up any more. Things stop making sense and I don’t like it.
4. I am a pretty independent person and I like doing things the way I like them. I also get very nervous about meeting people I don’t want to meet and spending time with other people’s friends, so not having in-laws and in-friends to deal with is a blessing. I have got loads of lovely friends of my own, and without a boyfriend, I have enough time to actually see them all. And none of them confuse me or disappear on me or keep me awake at night as I try to figure them out.
So – the evidence is clear. I don’t want a boyfriend. And yet, and yet… It’s clearly been long enough that I’m pretty much over the romantic disasters of last year. And it’s spring time, which always helps with these things, and, the ultimate truth about me, which I try with all of my logic to over-ride, is that I am a hopeless romantic and I am constantly looking for someone who will rub my feet at night, and whose feet I can rub in return. None of the logic in the world is ever going to fully defeat that fact.
Let’s look at the possibilities: Suitors One, Two and Three.
Suitor Number One is a delightful fellow. Tall, handsome, kind, reliable. I’ve known him for years and always been pretty sweet on him, ever since the time he came to a party at my house when he didn’t really know me and behaved impeccably. Manners, you see. They’re the equivalent of knee-length fuck-me boots in my book.
I recently made a bit of a ham-fisted attempt to woo him, but discovered in the process that he has zero interest. However, I think I’ve actually made a friend there, so I’ve decided not to mind too much about that one, swoon-worthy as the guy is.
Suitor Number Two… well, there hangs a tale. Suitor Number Two seemed keen, keen, keen and got me to the point where I too, was feeling very keen. We had one date, which was spectacular. We ate, talked, laughed, sat gradually closer and closer to each other. I was smitten, I don’t mind telling you. He kissed me good night and asked if I wanted to go out again. I floated home on cloud ten.
However, I have sensed a distinct lessening of interest on the part of Suitor Number Two since then, which has left me scratching my head a little. I am still feeling pretty baffled about that one, but I suspect a need to face the fact that the Red X of Rejection has been stamped on my papers and move on. Plus, I'm a busy woman, you know? I don't have time for dilly dallying. You're either in, or you're out!
And so, Suitor Number Three. The suitor who doesn’t even realise he’s a suitor. Mind you, neither does number one for that matter. But I’ve made my peace with that – many of my greatest love affairs have been played out entirely in my head. This guy is tall and so bone-shakingly handsome he should be in the movies. I have recently discovered that he has the coolest job in the entire universe – I can’t tell you what it is in case reads this, and then I’m rumbled - but I can tell you it makes me think he must be as fascinating as he is gorgeous. We’ve had some Facebook contact, but I’m holding out on making too much of an advance because… (keep telling yourself, Johanna) I don’t want a boyfriend. Remember?
I think perhaps what that actually means is that I don’t want to get hurt again. After years of blind, trusting stupidity, I’m finally learning to be a bit scared. I’m not sure this is a good thing. But I also know I’m sick of being one of Konrad Lorenz’s ducklings, following the first man I see blindly to the ends of the earth, without thinking it through first.
I have no idea if I stand a chance with Suitor Number Three. And I’m attempting to keep a lid on even trying to find out at the moment. Only time will tell, I guess…