Saturday afternoon off work. Obviously; pyjamas, tea, tea, more tea, Sex & the City, tea, Sex & the City, baking, tea…
I am single.
And I’m sitting here, in my bed, in the afternoon, still in my pyjamas, about to watch the second episode of the second series of Sex & the City and I just think to myself, “I am practically Carrie Bradshaw.”
I’m sat in my room, in a small flat in London writing about my life. That is so Carrie Bradshaw. Minus the pretty Manhattan place, the New York cocktail bars, the money, the shoes, the sex…
I live in London. I’ve been here since September. There are millions of men. Why am I not having sex with one of them?! Instead I come home from work to my pyjamas and listening to Radio 4.
I downloaded one of those dating apps a couple of months ago. Happn. It’s like Tinder, but less about just getting in my pants. I sort of hated it, because I don’t want to meet someone on an app that I passed in the street, but I just thought “Fuck it! I’m in London, who cares?!” Then after one too many (so three) people sending me ridiculous lines, one failed date and one terrible excuse, I deleted it. It’s nice to get a bit of attention but seriously, you’re not going to meet the one, or anyone with any real connection, on an app, are you? You just like each other’s faces? Yeah you might be fit but you’ve probably got the personality of a pea, and I doubt you’re going to find my dreadful jokes as hilarious as I do!
Commitment though, I am not ready for that shit. I’ve been single for about 2 years and spent those two years worrying about myself and my dog and star fishing across the bed. Anyway, all I actually want a boyfriend for is to eat pizza in bed and make me a cuppa tea on Sunday morning. Although the pizza thing is probably not gonna happen because men have a weird thing with eating in bed.