For such a busy year to come, the first 18 days of the year were empty of dates, following a strenuous knee surgery that left me on crutches. Additionally in the first 12 days of the year, I actually had a boyfriend. To be clear, I thought of him as my boyfriend, but we should really be using that word in inverted commas. I have no idea if he thought of me that way, nor did I know if ever told more than one or two individuals in his life about me. He was the boyfriend in the very modern sense. We met online, we dated for five plus months, and he was emotionally incapable of calling me his girlfriend at least out-loud due to his ‘snowflake handicap’. (Men and woman around my age I have noticed have a special way of messing things up for themselves by being too darn precious, and often too damn proud to admit they aren’t perfect, more on that here). Life isn’t fair, and life isn’t even, get over it, get up and move on.
Back to the start of the year. This man I was dating hadn’t done poorly for himself, but he was certainly signing the 'poor me' song every night to sleep. He owned a house in zone 5 Londn, a BMW (that I never rode in) and was working as a contract software engineer. Everything had been going totally fine, or so I had thought, until the turn of the new year. Shortly after the clock stuck 12 I had minor knee surgery with one overnight stay. While my family lived abroad and was unable to take care of me, I still did not ask him to come; I think deep down inside I knew he would turn me down. When I texted him after waking up from anesthesia to let him know I made it out alive, he texted back ‘I should really be there for you, but can’t bring myself to come’. I told him to come say hello if he wanted to – there was nothing scary about this and visitors were welcome. He declined, he was with a buddy drinking down the pub. I was disappointed but the next day hobbled into an Uber and began to take care of myself. I never saw him again. He never called, or came over; when I broached the subject he made excuses, and a week into my recovery when I still couldn’t walk more than a few feet, he ended whatever we had over text. It was so outrageous I was less sad for myself, and more sad that he may one day actually spire a child who he would also abandon when the going got tough.
18 days later I could just about hobble out of my house and into a taxi, so it was time to institute my plan: find a boyfriend who wasn’t shit. Numbers and quality would be key here. Date as many eligible men possible in one year continually evaluating my needs and desires for a lasting relationship.
Comments