Something very strange happened three months ago.
Thousands believed it wouldn’t happen.
People in the street
gasped when they heard the news.
I found myself in a relationship. A proper, grown up
relationship.
My Mum nearly spat her tea out when she found out, but
regained her composure to begin what can only be described as the Spanish
Inquisition. “Well darling, we do have to ask… are they male or female?” was a
particular highlight. To clarify, I am dating a man, which I think shocked
people more than the fact I was actually in a relationship.
I’d like to comment
on my father’s reaction, but it sort of slipped my mind to mention it to him,
for fear he’d post pictures of me from younger years, arse hanging out, looking
rough, with spaghetti on my face. Not unlike present day I hear you say! Smart
arses. When he eventually found out, he asked which agency I’d used, and if my
boyfriend had a white stick. Cheers Dad.
I guess what I’m
trying to say is that the impossible sometimes happen. I’ve managed to find
someone who actually likes me for what I am. And lord knows that’s a difficult
feat. He’s aware of my love for cats (read: obsession), he accepts that a drink
of wine constitutes a bottle, that I can’t spend more than an hour out of my
PJs and, occasionally, he even finds me funny. What more could I ask for? I’m
blessed.
I’m not a mushy lovey wuuvy type: I tend to shy away from
public displays of affection and shouting things from the top of buildings. But
I find myself increasingly mellower- I like spending prolonged periods of time
with another human being, and I’ll pass up a boozy night in Oceana to watch a
film or something. And I’m kinda okay with it.
However, fear not. My new year’s resolution is to get this
blog back up and running to its beautiful former glory. I know that my lonely singledom
kind of made it, but I’m still as woefully tragic. I’ve sat here writing this
eating three Wagon Wheels, listening to Whitney Houston perfecting my cat
miaow.
Keep checking back for posts.
Samm.
