Hi, I’m NML, I’m twenty-eight years old and I’m five months away from being twenty-nine, which puts me about seventeen months away from the big three-o. I have been a silly woman at times because I have gone out with some right dickheads in my time, but I’m getting older and wiser which means that I am learning about why I make my choices and trying to make better ones. One day with any luck, hopefully soon, I will meet a nice guy who wants to have a laugh at life, put up with my quirky ways and laugh with my zany family, plus make a few babies whilst he’s at it.
In the meantime, I have just broken up with The F*ckwit, who aside from being an opinionated jackass, he was also a doctor which seems to have rung a few bells with my friends and family. I told him to beat it for good reasons and our romance ended after just six weeks, but what became apparent during this time and in the days that followed, is that whilst I have standards, my friends and family don’t have such high ones.
In a world where it is acceptable not to marry the first man that shows you any interest and his penis, why is it that some of my friends and family seem so desperate to see me in a relationship, in fact, any relationship?
I am currently more happy and comfortable with me than I have ever been. It would be nice to be in a relationship, but I desire compatibility more than I desire commitment. Often we put the cart before the horse and lock ourselves down to unavailable men and other forms of f*ckwit in a desperate need to commit, despite the fact that there are some very obvious big flaws in the relationship. I live in a constant sphere of fighting off other peoples fear. When people ask me how I don’t hate living on my own, waking up on my own, being single instead of being a couple on Noah’s relationship ark, they are projecting their sense of fear about what they perceive single to be on me.
I have had mixed reaction to ending it with The F*ckwit and the negatives have revolved around whether I have been too hasty; whether I should just overlook the fact that he’s opinionated, disrespectful and actually unable to commit; whether I am being too picky, and of course, why can’t I just accept any guy that comes along and give them a chance.
I hate to break it to you, but I’m not the Battersea Dogs Home of relationships. I am not a charitable cause and I don’t want to welcome every waif and friggin stray. I have standards because if I don’t, I will be a miserable woman with potentially miserable children and a very miserable life. I have standards because I would like to have some semblance of happiness and I’ll give myself a bloody good start at it with a compatible partner. I can forgo a smelly armpit, but I can’t forgo fundamental differences in values that won’t be eliminated any time soon.
It frightens me sometimes that people who do care about and love me, really can’t see how little standards they have for me, but then I realise that again, like their fear of the single life, this is another form of projection. What they are telling me to make allowances for, are things that they would roll over and make allowances for themselves. And that’s their prerogative, but it’s not mine. It’s different strokes for different folks and for some, security comes in the form of a man, any man. It doesn’t matter how he treats you or how unhappy you are with him; he’s there.
So I won’t be outraged the next time someone comes out with some trumped up BS about standards or allowances that I should be making. I’ll feel sympathetic because I’ve just had a quick glimpse into their own relationship and their own sense of self, and I’ll feel sorry that they haven’t had the chance to get wise and make better choices.
And no, I’m not too fussy, I don’t have too high standards and I’m not asking for anything too out of the ordinary. They are the basics and if I can’t apply a little quality control to a man that I would like to share the rest of my life with and bear children, I may as well give up now and pick up the first guy I see out on the street when I leave my house. Now where’s my blindfold?