Questions Answered #11

In a desperate effort to gain some weird form of validation, I stole an idea for a blog post and begged my readers to ask me a question. And they did. The buggers. Now I have to answer them.

Adrian asks “Why I’m glad I’m not single”. I’ll presume he’s wanting ME to explain why I’M glad I’m not single, not point out all his flaws and weird mannerisms that make girls run screaming the second he enters a room.. I’m guessing..

Why I’m glad I’m not single
OK, buckets at the ready. This is gonna be kinda love-dovey. Look, I’ve even coloured it all romantic like. Awwwww.

OK, maybe that’s enough of the pink…

So to answer the question I think I need to start with some kind of definition of what it’s like to be head over heels, still gazing adoringly, ‘she lights up the room when she enters’ in love. And the trouble with trying to do that, is that it’s simply impossible to put into words.

Let’s try an action instead.

Take your index finger and your thumb (they should be attached to your hand already, hence the phrase ‘handy’), pinch them together. Tighter. TIGHTER. And relax. Bonus points if you actually did it…

That gap is how much Louise and I love each other. Hmmm, that doesn’t make much sense… let me try to explain.

The premise behind this action is that, instead of competing with the “spread your arms wide and hold out your hands ‘I love you this much!!!’ ” gesture — you know, like you would if you’d just caught a fish, “it was THIS big” — we quickly escalated things beyond what we could reach with our arms and, pretty soon, we realised our love for each other stretches all the way around the world and back to the start. For a reason which now escapes me, we pinch our fingers together to show this…

We really must get out more.

Anyway, falling in love is great, being with the one person you can’t imagine NOT being with is wonderful, and I certainly don’t think I’d choose to go back to being single. I enjoy having someone to come home to, someone to snuggle with whilst watching crap movies on a Saturday afternoon, or just someone who knows when to listen and when to open the alcohol.

Of course you don’t have to be in love to live with someone, but I’d imagine the early days of any kind of co-habiting relationship are similar.

At first, everything is new and you are both a little on edge, being careful what you do and say, checking and double-checking that it’s OK to leave the mugs to dry on the draining board, rather than hanging them up on that nifty mug rack you got as a moving in present (does anyone still use one of those?).

Soon you learn each other habits, and over time you adapt or adjust your views accordingly. You know that when he gets up he always, ALWAYS farts, and that she always, ALWAYS leaves her jacket and bag in a different place when she comes home at night. The list is endless and unique.

How this develops depends largely on the relationship the two people build (or don’t build). If you remain “just flatmates”, the cautious note remains, always tempering your desire to just bloody well LEAVE the glass on the table without a coaster. If you are “friends that are flatmates” things are generally more relaxed, you are more comfortable with each other and you don’t object too much when she asks you to clean the toilet as she’s got friends coming round. OK, bad example. You know what I mean.

But when partners live together it’s different. Completely. As you share a unique bond, a closeness that, from your viewpoint, few others can match, you start to develop a love/hate relationship with each others habits and foibles (ahh what a great word, foibles.. say it with New Jersey accent, foyybulllsss.. wonderful).

For example, she may always almost choke when brushing her teeth. It’s loud and annoying yet at the same time it’s weirdly endearing that she hasn’t yet figured out how to brush her teeth without jamming the brush halfway down her throat. Weird but it belongs to the partnership (until one of them blurts it out on the internet, but who the hell would do that?).

Or perhaps he never EVER puts his dirty washing in the basket. It’s hugely annoying, but also has a familiarity that is welcoming and… what was that dear? Ohhh right. Apparently there is no upside to this one. Right you are.

This list goes on and on and ariston. But I’m beginning to ramble (imagine that dear reader) and, most importantly, I’ve not really offered you much of an answer.

To summarise, and attempt to draw this nonsense to an end (yeah yeah, I know, why couldn’t I have done that 8 paragraphs ago!), quite simply I’m glad I’m not single because I almost lost her once, and since then every day with her is another day of happiness.

See, I TOLD you to get the buckets ready…

Written By

Long time blogger, Father of Jack, geek of many things, random photographer and writer of nonsense.

Doing my best to find a balance.

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