Hopeless unRomantic…

“What do you mean, you ‘aren’t lonely’??” Mouth in a very “O” shape, Guy Friend exclaims over a bucket of beers.

I look down and ponder. Well, beer is my friend…

I’m definitely not lonely. In fact, I’d say you can find my mugshot in the dictionary next to ‘Social Misanthrope’. People mostly just shit me to tears. Besides my friends (and some are serrrrriously pushing it).

I actually make a little squeak of glee and do a dance of joyousness when I get home. I LOOOOOOOOOOVE BEING ALONE. Oh, the music. Walking around singing the wrong words to horrifically loud latest CD flavour of the week. Eating straight from the fridge. (Yes, I’m a lady. And yet I do that.) Going to bed at 3am with a bag of salt licorice and Nintendo. Falling asleep with headphones on blaring Whitney Houston (a girl has needs, you know).  Not getting growled at for making a duvet cocoon around myself while unconscious. Spending 20mins in the bathroom creating THE perfect ‘smokey eye’. Donating my “study” to the burgeoning needs of global shoe trends. And, worst of all… speaking ‘cat’. Yes, yes I do. The last boy who visited thought I was possessed by Lisa Simpson. Oh, the joys.

Ok. So we’ve established that next to “lonely”, there’s no tick.

“Oh-kayyyyy. Don’t you miss waking up next to someone every day? Don’t you miss just shooting the breeze with someone you love?…” Guy Friend is now imploring me… urgently.

I _definitely_ do not miss waking up next to someone, dear Lord no. Male dragon breath, hairy man legs?? No thanks. And then that 5 seconds after I wake up and it dawns on me that I look like a newt with swollen lips… Eish.

And I really would much rather shoot the breeze with the friends I love who happen to not leave the loo seat up.

But really… what do I miss? I feel like I am trying to remember where I left my keys. That oh-my-god-I-better-grasp-at-straws feeling.

I answer honestly: “I really can’t think of anything I miss besides a dual- income living situation and someone taking out the rubbish”.

He laughs… “God, you’re so unromantic.”

Shock. Horror. The love of beer, being ridiculously selfish, eating at odd times of the day and night… I’m turning into a man.

 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: