Thursday, October 20, 2005

Below is OH SO true to life.


Wednesday, October 19, 2005

If only my friends could be celibate forever
I shouldn’t hate it when my friends meet Mr Right – on the contrary, I know I'm supposed to be pleased for them and their new-found happiness. But a bit of resentment is only natural, surely. After all, I used to be their priority; we used to have fun. Now it’s all, ‘Johnny doesn’t want me to go to Ibiza because he says I’m not emotionally stable enough to handle five days of sustained self-abuse.’ Bah.

The first sign a mate has lost it is, as Bridget Jones observed, when she gets mentionitis. This is when I’ll be talking about the price of fish and my friend will say, ‘Johnny likes cod.’ Some people get such chronic cases I can’t so much as mention my holiday without having to hear about bloody Johnny's bloody travels.When we're on the phone, she’ll make giggling references to their sex life while he’s listening. So she’ll say something like, ‘I got absolutely no sleep last night, thanks to someone not a million miles away from here, hahaha.’

This means I end up feeling like a gooseberry in my own house.She will start leaving early. Whereas before she could be found shouting for a third bottle of wine at closing time, she will now adopt a guilty expression and mutter something vague about having promised Johnny she’d be home before 11pm.Naturally, she will try to paint him in a positive light. But this often backfires. So when my friend says, ‘I’m a bit worried, he’s slept with hundreds of girls.’ What she’s actually trying to say is, ‘He’s really fit. Look how many women find him attractive.’ Unfortunately this just makes him come across as a feckless slut.

There will invariably be some sort of drama surrounding their romance. So it might be that his ex is a raging psychopath, or that she used to go out with his best friend. Whatever. This is designed to give their affair a sort of doomed Romeo/Juliet, Burton/Taylor, Pete/Kate-style glamour, but is, again, just irritating.

Her route home changes. In the old days, we might have accompanied each other to the bus stop. Instead, there will now be a mumbled, ‘I’m going to Johnny’s’, before she flees in the opposite direction. I don’t know why this should be annoying, but it is.In much the same way people do with their children, she’ll expect me to find his foibles as charming as she does. So she’ll say, ‘Johnny’s obsessed with baby tigers,’ no doubt expecting some reaction other than prolonged vomiting.She will boast – not overtly, but it’s boasting nonetheless – about how much money he earns. If he doesn’t earn any money, she will big up his artist credentials (‘He’s such a brilliant photographer.’)

She will show me the sappy text messages he’s sent her. This is to prove to me how much he loves her and what a Great Thing this is, but has the unintended consequence of making me feel utterly repelled.Of course, Johnny could be a perfectly lovely chap, just right for her and all the rest of it. In which case I have to smile sweetly and encourage the relationship, blah blah blah. With any luck, they’ll get married and she’ll go off him soon enough.


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