It took me a long time to realise that I was quite anti-social, given that I had always considered myself to be quite friendly and outgoing. It was probably when I was accepting an invitation to something knowing already that I was going to think up an excuse not to go nearer the time because it was a Tuesday night and Smallville was on.
I spent many years thinking there was something wrong with me because I didn't seem to be programmed to survive in a relationship, and then one day I just accepted that there was nothing wrong with me...I just like my own company more than most of the people - certainly the men anyway - that I have ever met in my life.
And with that realisation I happpily took the path least travelled, choosing to be single, not because I can't get a boyfriend, not because no one likes me, but because that's what makes me happy.
But all the people that kept telling me "You'll change your mind when you meet the right person" turned out to be right. And I'm trying really hard not to do a complete about turn and become all smug about it. But I feel damn smug right now!
Of course it's true that good can't survive without evil. I mean would the rebel alliance even exist if it wasn't for the Empire? Would Superman need to save the world if Lex Luthor wasn't trying to take it over? No!
So I realised this morning that I had been stood in front of the mirror in my unmatching black bra and Paul Frank monkey yellow Tuesday pants, with a big pair of green crocodile slippers on my feet, towel wrapped turban like around my head cursing myself for not having gotten round to replacing the old pretty/sexy underwear sets I'd thrown out last year on the understanding that no one would be seeing them anyway and I needed a whole host of new underwear after a random growth spurt saw me go up a bra size.
I was also aware that I was contemplating what I was going to wear when he comes over for dinner tonight...or rather - to cook me pancakes.
When I realised I'd been stood there looking forlornly at my reflection for half an hour it occurred to me that a) he really wouldn't care at all what I was wearing, coz that sort of thing really isn't very important, and b) he's not coming over for like another 7 hours...and I gladly pulled on my sweat pants and started making some breakfast!
Although this little random episode came straight after I'd had a bath, shaved my legs, plucked my eyebrows and moisturised...moisturised for Gods sake.
But I cant help thinking that I am making an extra effort because he doesn't actually expect it. He seems quite content and happy with me just as I am...I mean if he turned round to me and said "fuckin' hell you're a hairy bitch have a shave will you" I'd be throwing out the razors in a formal protest, or if he told me how rough I look when I first wake up in the morning with a hangover, I'd be thinking "hmph love me love my faults" and all those "if he can't accept me as I am then he can fuck off" "This is me take it or leave it" type cliches.
But he doesn't. He smiles at me, kisses my rancid alcohol stinking morning mouth and tells me I'm beautiful!
So while I moan about the grooming, and the having to be sociable and meet new people, it's a necessary evil, and totally worth it. I once said I didn't want to go looking for mr right, I wanted him to swing by and land next to me on the sofa...and that he did!
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