You’re my number 2

When I was a teenager and well into my early twenties, there was a whole portion of the English language which I felt was completely alien to me. Not just alien, but meaningless, lacking substance, clichéd, useless and, frankly, dull. Vocabulary and terminology reserved for people who read women’s weeklies, people I overheard in hairdressers and the audience of ‘Ricky Lake’ (Go Ricky, Go Ricky). Stuff like “I need some me-time” or “What star-sign are you?” or “I’m not in the mood, I have a headache” or “I can’t, I’m working tomorrow” or “I’m tired” or “That’s men for you” or “I don't want to ruin my shoes".

One such phrase which filled me with horror and caused me to flinch whenever I heard it was: “He has commitment issues”. Every time it was uttered, my head would be filled with images of shackled men, forced down the aisle to the sound of the funeral march, leaving behind a gaggle of fun-loving, laid-back mates and entering into an eternity of servitude filled with double-dates, baby-puke, Saturday nights in watching ‘Take me out’ and trips to Ikea. But whilst star-signs and lying to get out of sex remain obscure and laughable concepts, the whole ‘commitment issue’ thing is starting to have some resonance in my own life.

It first came up way back when I was 17. That summer I went on a camping holiday in France with my older brother, his friend Sam and my friend Therese. Terri and I were supposed to share one tent and Chris and Sam were to share another. Hours after landing on Gallic soil, however, and presumably spurred on by the dulcet tones of the language of love being spoken around them (or is that Italian?), my brother and Terri lost control of themselves and, breaking all rules of propriety, got it on. And so, it fell to me to entertain Chris’ friend in their absence.

So we put up what was now ‘our tent’, played a couple of games of travel-scrabble and took a quick stroll to the beach. After which, lacking any kind of imagination, Sam and I got it on too.

My 6-month relationship with Sam was a fun-filled whirlwind of drinking, laughing, competing at board games and day-time-tv. When he disappeared off for his first year at university, his penchant for alternating cheesy love letters with fake letters from solicitors or enrolment forms for TV-quiz shows suited me fine and I was very happy indeed. It was with great disappointment then, but still a little amusement, that I received a phone call from Sam in the Christmas break asking me if I wanted to be his girlfriend ‘just in the holidays’.

‘Erm…no I don’t’.

After the momentary irritation had worn off, I quickly bounced back and got into the swing of it again. The swing of it, however, seems to entail a preference for the short-term or part time. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had a couple of ‘proper’ relationships since then, but aside from them (well..not even aside from them), there seems to be a lot of people attempting to have their cake…and eat it too.

And I’m not just talking about sex here people. No, no. Would I be so crass? (Probably). I have a number of male friends (5 off the top of my head) who have explicitly told me ‘if I didn’t have a girlfriend / wife / boyfriend then I would definitely be with you.’

Thanks. Very useful information. Not irritating at all.

And now I’ve come to the point in my life where I’m almost thirty. And everyone around me is almost thirty. And ‘commitment issues’ are being cited on a daily basis from friends and friends of friends and now..from my own mouth.

I am currently seeing a man with ‘commitment issues’. There. I said it. So deeply entrenched are his CI’s, that he will read this blog post (yes, he reads my blog) and take issue at my use of the word ‘seeing’. The word will ring his ears like an alarm bell screaming “she’s got the wrong idea, she’s got the wrong idea”. Since - and let me be completely clear about this – I am NOT his girlfriend and, in spite of the fact that we have been in one another’s lives for coming on 2 years now, he is DEFINITELY NOT my boyfriend.

Bleugh. ‘He’s got commitment issues.” “And his dinner’s in the dog and she could do so much better than him”.

Or maybe he just doesn’t like me.

Oh god. I’m an Eastenders wife. I’m on the panel of Loose Women. I’m a Hollywood mother-in-law. Save yourselves…it’s too late for me. I’m going to turn into one of those women who moans about how fat she is all the time and how she never meets anyone nice and then wonders why nobody wants to sleep with her. I’m going to turn into one of those women who updates her Facebook status at hourly intervals with dreary details of their mundane existence. I’m going to become one of those women who writes a moany, bitter, man-hating blog. Shit.

Stuff I liked this week

Wicked little cinema that my friend and I stumbled across: http://www.aubincinema.com/

I can already speak French, but if you can't: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oA5CMtQDyP4&feature=youtube_gdata_player