In which I realise I don't really want a relationship
27 September 2008
Before I had a chance to pluck up courage to call M, I received another pen and ink letter, telling me he kept my photo on his chest of drawers.
Two things flashed through my mind.
First, the fact he had a chest of drawers. This is a good start. The EH* just had a large pile of festering clothes, mainly misshapen sportswear, he kept by the bedroom door. I had had a walk-in wardrobe built for him – it lit up when you opened the sliding doors – but he refused to use it.
The second thought was: he has a photo of me! I have to point out here I have a phobia about pictures of myself. I can never look at them.
The main obstacle to my getting married (apart from nagging doubts that my intended actually loved me, given that on our wedding eve he preferred to play pool with my maid of honour) was that I dreaded the wedding photos.
But, despite this phobia, I still had two from the hundreds on the contact sheets printed and framed and, until recently, when I feng shui-ed them and found they were blocking my love area, sitting on my desk.
The EH has not one wedding photo in his possession. He never once carried a picture of me in his wallet (he did, in his defence, have a head shot of Snoopy on his phone), although he did secrete a photo of FWD** in among his collection of two pence pieces.
Anyway, I know I have to let go of the past. Perhaps dating a man who ostensibly adores me is the way forward. But, to be honest, I don't really want a boyfriend. They are too annoying.
REASONS BOYFRIENDS ARE ANNOYING
● They use the bathroom sink. This is too upsetting for words. They leave watermarks on the taps. They rub away at the mirror to gaze at their own reflection.
● They invade your personal space. I hate this. They examine you at close quarters first thing in the morning.
● They are always opening the fridge door for absolutely no reason, which we all know is bad for the environment.
● They criticise you endlessly, saying, 'What is that?', and pointing at various bits of your disintegrating body.
● They ask endless personal questions, such as, 'When exactly were you born?'
● Whenever you ask them a simple question, they drag their eyes slowly from whatever they are reading or doing and look at you as if to say, 'Hmmm, what is it now?' It makes you want to stab them with a pen.
● They take their socks off while watching telly.
● They pretend they don't know how the timer on the central heating works; how to dismantle the fridge which they made dirty in the first place, and they mumble useless questions such as, 'Where do we keep the tea towels?'
● They never tell the cabbie your destination, leaving you to do it.
● When they move on to the next girlfriend they suddenly change their spots, paying for things and being all supportive.
Relationships are hell. Women only put up with them if a) they want large, heavy objects moved. My friend Jenni dated a hopeless man for six weeks just to get a pyramid of concrete moved from near her front doorstep.
Or b) they need sperm and then someone to blame for their dreary life. We do not have relationships for sex. Men only want sex with a woman who doesn't tell him off for not plumping the cushions.
I am not going to phone M. If a man wants to get near me, he is going to have to be exceptional.
I don't want another egotistical nightmare who thinks he can make me happy. Only I can make me happy.
*Ex-husband. **F***ing whore Daphne
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