A most bizarre thing has happened recently. It was quite unexpected and rather unnerving. I have been on a date with a man who I find attractive and want to see again. This, combined with all the Olympic joy and free love being thrown about the place at the moment, has left me feeling all off balance. I am far more familiar with being a jaded old crow concerning all things romantic and to actually look forward to the company of a man is quite surprising. Why, I almost found myself smiling at work today whilst listening to a lesser known Dorris Day track, I am seeking medical help immediately.
The two outstanding positives about said gentleman is that English is not his first language and that he travels a lot. This can only serve to lengthen our courtship, in that most of the time he doesn’t have the blindest idea about what the hell I’m on about and secondly, that, being of such a nomadic nature, the chances are it will take much longer than the usual 3 and a half weeks for him to start irritating me, Oh and, too, that I’m running low on perfume. You’ve got to love a man who knows his Duty Free.
I think there is much to be said for a relationship that isn’t full time. I can only speak for myself of course, but there is little in life that makes me want to join a lesbian nunnery in Tibet quite as quickly as a man who is on top of you the whole time. Literally, I can deal with; metaphorically, and the cringe monster starts tapping.
I dare say that I am in the minority when it comes to my solitary preferences and that my dread of continual contact will no doubt see me end my days half eaten by a plague of blue bottles on my kitchen floor with nothing but a can of Tennent’s Super and an expired freedom pass to my name, but in the meantime I beg the question – What is wrong with a bit of space?
Interesting, when researching the subject online, I was met by a list of pages, containing people, most notably women, complaining of situations where a partner, most notably men, wanted ‘space.’ (Read – never have contact with you again, you psycho bunny boiling bitch.) Or to have a ‘part-time relationship’ (read fuck your best friend) The one site I did come across, highlighting the benefits of seeing your partner less than is traditionally expected, was ironically called ‘and this is why you’re single’. The plot thickens.
I, myself, can’t imagine anything more conducive to a long and happy relationship than never seeing one another. It is quite thrilling to think that my current suitor may well spend his entire life believing I have never possessed any sort of body hair or had a period, that I drink moderately once a fortnight and wear matching underwear every day of the year.
Bad moods and fat days? God no, not me darling!
Dating a man who travels is like being a mistress without the inevitable screaming wife in the background. You get all the fun bits without any of the belching, bickering and boredom. Constant excitement and anticipation, in exchange for being able to ‘curl up on the sofa with a DVD’ and get a lift home from the pub.
Of course, for the sake of argument and to diffuse any ‘fear of commitment’ comments inevitably coming my way I will acknowledge that there likely comes a point where a night out once a fortnight and 12 hours of thrilling conversation, tales of adventures and ‘so hot right now’ sex will wain, but for now …. Board that flight baby, I ain’t going anywhere.