Horny Wives And Girlfriends

What are we coming to these days? What gets our rocks off? In the midst of an emotional depression and a sexual awakening, I am learning to see and accept what really makes me tick.

Tonight, watching the episode where Carrie sees the ring before Aiden proposes, I needed to ask my boyfriend whether we had killed the romance by removing the surprise and mystery elements of engagement by talking about it already. He said no. Tick.

After last night, talking a friend through my nightmarish weekend fighting match with said boyfriend, I realised I don’t have a clue where I stand anymore. I had to text the question, “Are we full on best friends and lovers again?” Will our heads ever shut up asking questions? Am I yet to learn that long-lasting relationships are by nature harbours of regret and greenhouses for self-doubt? Please let it just be me. He said, “Of course”. Tick. One more neurosis ushered back into hibernation.

Aaaaand I actually just text the same phrase to my boyfriend that Carrie used in conversation with Miranda ONE SECOND after my message went out. Am I so in time with my current favourite box set that my pleasure is a vibe set in place by my fictional escapism? My dreams have been pretty crazy recently. Observe:

1. I wake up in secondary school with a current work mate (years younger than me, from a different town and in reality, although we get on well, we don’t actually hang out outside of work) who seems to be my soul-mate best friend who I hang out with twenty-four-seven, and who has put a temporary oriental dragon tattoo on my thigh in my sleep.

2. I am held captive with another workmate during a war in a foreign country. We escape, meet with others from work, get left behind from the group, traipse through a strange wooded park, turn back and discover that builders have turned up and dismantled the bridge we came across into a muddy mess that looks like it has been there for weeks.

3. This same friend. We were spending a lot of time together, got very close, he leaned in to kiss me, I backed away and reminded him of my boyfriend, feeling guilty and worried that I may lose the friend. The friend was hurt, and annoyed at me for leading him on.

4. After winning (and I swear I’m not making this up) the ‘Gentlemen’s Gusto’ Award at work, which somehow means ‘Most Attractive’, I celebrate with a bestie girlfriend from work with a snog.

This is the most recent one I can remember, but the phase remains. Consequently, I slept like a baby and can’t remember a thing.

I am an emotional. I walk out in slippers, I run out in the rain, I am prepared to break down in front of any audience. I do not give my head a word in edgeways. I need to feel that my man’s hands and mind are with me, or I feel empty. There is only so much I can do for myself.

In an ideal world, I would be ‘arriving’ to the sound of Sade’s ‘By Your Side’, to the sound of my boyfriend, to something other well-crafted, emotionally-engineered schmaltz. But the thought that I am going to be spending the rest of my life with my best-friend boyfriend is what really gets me going.

Are we silly for getting little kicks from sending base puns and innuendos to our already-caught partners? Is this what constitutes making the most of a long-distance relationship? Enjoy the little things… And enjoy what you have.

Afterthought: As I’m a freak for coincidences, I also notice that tonight is the eighteenth blog I have saved on my hard drive. This is the number at which I paused my obsession with Imogen Heap’s old video blogs about a month ago. I will resume, because I remember that these make me happy.

I know what I’m doing this weekend.

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