I love the view of the lake from the window of my apartment, it’s fabulous. No matter what the weather or time of day I love gazing out at the baby swans that float across the water, the windsurfers gliding towards me and the ducks being fed by passers-by. There’s just one thing that ruins it – couples.
Sadly, my lakeside apartment appears to be a haven for loved up couples and I find it most depressing. They’re either strolling hand in hand, walking the family dog, cycling with their 2.4 children or smooching on the grass. It makes me sick. Maybe I should start spitting at them from the balcony?
Okay, so I’m single, but I really don’t need reminding of it every time I look out the window. And it is every time I look out the window. Every time! Do they know I’m single and gather outside my pad just to spite me? Do they pull on fake smiles and loving looks every time they walk past my window, just to make me envious of their coupled-up happiness? It’s starting to feel that way.
I never see single folk going for a stroll; the occasional jogger perhaps, but generally people travel in pairs. It reminds me that my apartment is so wasted on one person. It’s really a home for two (certainly financially) and I’ve yet to have a member of the male population through the door. I can’t really count the Sky man of the telephone engineer can I?
Lately, I have been pining for a boyfriend. And I get angry when I do that ‘cos I should be independent and happy with my single status and not reliant on men for an ego boost. But I do. I’m home alone on a Friday night and watching TV would be so much better in the arms of a hunky guy.
My ideal Friday night would consist of:
- Coming home from work to find hunky boyf cooking up a treat in the kitchen. It smells fab. He’s also tidied up.
- Crack open a bottle of Pinot Grigio and share a pre-dinner, candle-lit bath with boyf – massage aplenty.
- Over tasty dinner (eaten in our his and hers dressing gowns) we engage in intelligent conversation. He asks me about my day and how I’d like to spend the weekend.
- Move to the sofa where the dressing gowns come off and we engage in a bit of…you know what…I don’t need to go into details. He hits all the right spots, says he loves my body and we orgasm together.
- Curl up on the sofa for post-sex DVD and cuddles before retiring to bed. His arm doesn’t leave my waist all night.
A girl can dream. My actual Friday night consists of:
- Work late and then head to TK Maxx to buy nothing in particular and return home with two vests, a pair of shorts and some flat shoes. Random.
- Put a load of washing on and empty the dishwasher.
- Catch up on emails and bill payments. This somehow runs into a couple of hours.
- Tuck into microwave meal for one. It’s low fat so tastes of nothing.
- Pour glass of wine from bottle that’s been open for two weeks. It’s yukky and I can’t be bothered to open a fresh one.
- Crave chocolate but the cupboards appear to be sugar free. A mug of hot chocolate takes the edge off.
- Cut toenails and paint them.
- Retire to bed. Alone. Read book and fall asleep to live Big Brother.
