What do you do then?
You've been seeing a guy for a few months now, (3 months and 4 days to be exact, not that you're counting) and things seem to be going well purely because:
1) He hasn't gone back to his ex-girlfriend
2) He hasn't yet mentioned that 'place' where we all go to at some stage in our lives, that unbeknownst place, that place that can either deem us ready or not ready for a relationship. That damn place.
There are probably a few more to mention here but these are the most common occurrences on your ever growing dating timeline.
You don't talk about your relationship much because well, what defines being in a relationship these days? A once a week Netflix and chill? (But like a genuine Netflix and chill not the sordid kind that makes you miss all the important bits of Stranger Things and Peaky blinders, i.e. Tommy Shelby.) Or is it the already preempted drunk dial late Saturday night to inquire of their whereabouts and if they fancy stopping over? Because it certainly seems these days (and as with everything I write about there are exceptions and god bless those exceptions) that flowers, chivalry and being wined and dined have been replaced with budget booze, booty calls in the form of Facebook messages (booty inbox messages doesn't have quite the same ring to it) and the awkward splitting of the just eat food bill. But nonetheless, you've been enjoying getting to know each other, slowly but surely by means of a literal Netflix and chill, fuzzy Facebook messages and split card payments in Wagamamas.
So, weeks in to this undeniably strange bond you've formed with someone who can only be described as a very, very handsome and chilled closed book, he messages you on Facebook (because you STILL don't have his mobile number and you're not sure whether that's a big deal or not because Facebook Messenger is just as apt as a text message, but it's just a little odd more so annoying that you can't save his number in your phone and perhaps put a little cutesie monkey emoji next to it.) He asks if you are free Friday as it's 'about time' he cooks for you. About time because he's witnessed your flustered and clumsy tendencies in the kitchen on several occasions as you try to remember the BBC good food recipes you've hopelessly memorised before his arrival. You want to make it seem as thought you always have the fresh herbs and chill's required to just chuck a seafood linguine together. Him cooking will also mean that you can avoid the the uncomfortable moment of opening the oven to a waft of dangerously high heat that melts both the makeup off your face and your dignity all at the same time.
As if you haven't already polished off half a bottle of wine in order to calm your weekly nerves, he shows up, in all his glory (even his hair is better than yours, thicker and longer) and places his beautifully manly man arms around your waist, bottle of wine in hand and his overnight bag slung over his prefect shoulders. And you love his overnight bag because well, it does what it says on the tin.
You watch him in the kitchen, sipping on the wine he just bought you. (You've hidden the remaining half a bottle you polished off earlier under your bed.) The wine he's bought for you tastes much better than any wine because it's the wine he bought for you. It could be Lambrini for all you care.
You talk about each others weeks (it has been about that length of time since you last saw each other) and he talks you through the Italian dish he is preparing and you laugh and joke as he mimics a TV chef. It's perfect, you're acting like a real couple here, you're probably a little more drunk than you expected yourself to be at 6pm, but you're happy and he seems pretty content as he lists the different ways to prevent onion tears.
The food was delicious, the wine is still flowing and you're now cuddled up on the sofa leaving his free arm in charge of the Netflix selection. You're full with wine, pasta and sheer content, so you're not paying much attention to his film choice. You're too busy focusing on an angle to drape across him where he cant see that you're a little bloated.
'How about this? I've watched this with my parents before, its hilarious.'
You're still not taking much in to account here as your mind wanders and pictures him and his more than likely handsome parents (you haven't met them of course, but have a mental image of them in your head from the time you rather hastily imagined the very event) all laughing and smiling at one another over some family friendly film about a talking rescue dog or something.
Oh, but wait, it looks like an action movie starring Tom Cruise. Well you're happy to try your best to at least pretend to enjoy the selection, you're feeling a little tired anyway from all the wine so perhaps you can just fall asleep to rise and fall of his chest as he breathes...aaahhhh.
BUT THEN she appears. The fresh faced, blonde and beautifully figured, carved-by-angels Cameron Diaz. Perfect long blonde hair on her perfect little head, flowing past her perfect bloody shoulders right down to her perfect arsing arse. And you know, you know immediately why he remembers this film, not because he had a laugh with his parents over her bimbo-esque character but because she is smoking bloody hot. Prancing about in in her sexy black heels with a gun, making better sex noises than a porn star whilst pathetically attacking criminals and submissively pining after Cruise.
I mean all this stuff didn't reaaally bother you at first. Yeah, it is slightly niggling to share his attention with a successful actress while you sit their all tipsy in your housemate pre-approved loungewear while she models little pink bikinis and slip dresses. So you start trying to pick out faults in this camel-toe less, cellulite-less, bra-less, bloat-less and everything-less of what you critisice yourself about - being (short-hairless, knobbly-knee-less etc.)
And as you firmly assure your insecure irrational thoughts that it's best to leave Cameron Diaz alone because she's not done anything to you, you hear a groan (a foreign groan to the muffled ones you think you may have heard but have never been sure cause you 're always too busy trying to make sex look sexy.) A groan that abruptly interrupts the rise and fall of his chest as he becomes enticed by Cammy D running along the beach so perfectly and so savagely sensuously that even you became a little flustered:
'Uhhhh, she is SO hot.'
And there was a huge emphasis on the word SO, and suddenly the wine he bought you tastes like PISS. He may as well of shouted it through a bloody megaphone, she is SOOOOOO HOT! He may as well just have had a wank over the blonde goddess right there on the sofa, right in front of you.
You don't move, or say anything. Instead you go in to your own head for a while (as if you hadn't already been) and become pissed off that she is acting alongside Tom Cruise who you can't even pretend to find attractive, (sorry Tom, I think it's the whole Scientology thing.) Then you go even deeper in to your head and question what it is you're doing on a Friday night, laying terribly uncomfortably on a chaps chest, trying not to leave traces of makeup on his t-shirt or breath too loudly.
So thanks Ms Diaz, I bet I'm not the only desperate fool to have been thrown off by your sheer deliciousness.
Now you may be querying why I have written this post in third person when it clearly relates to myself and my current man situation, well truth is, I'm not sure. But if I wish to go all psycho-analytical on myself, I may say that it's because I'm in slight denial of having got myself into another silly man-related predicament. And if I was to list a third important reason as to why things seem to be going well between me and the very handsome, chilled closed book, I would have listed:
3)Will not be soon jetting off to Australia for a year where the girls surf and have CAMERON DIAZ BIKINI BODIES
But the latter, is actually happening, in December. Damn
And perhaps it may seem very insecure and silly of myself to get so worked up over a passing comment about an actress, I'm sure if one of my sleb crushes was on screen I'd utter something similar (perhaps less enthusiastic though, it honestly sounded like he came.) The truth is, because of this chaps impending travels, I feel as though I cannot truly relax or be 100% myself in his company. And in an attempt to relax (pah) and just 'see what happens,' I have lost a sense of what it is I am really looking for.
I think it's time to talk - and I also think I know what is going to happen next but I will sure as hell be able to fight it better than Cameron Diaz ever will. Silly little bimbo.