Today would’ve been my 20th wedding anniversary. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t want to go back to that life, however today social media seems full of loved up couples and people pretending to be happy. I say this, not as a cynical person, but because, behind the “spent an amazing weekend with my soulmate” bollocks, I know that these are not essentially happy people, because I know what their real life is like because they tell me about how shit it is and I always feel glad that I”m single.
But it would be nice to find a person I could call my soul mate. Do they even exist?
My daughter came home for the bank holiday weekend. We had the loveliest weekend, full of wine and food and shopping and laughing and looking at pictures of her dad now and wondering what has happened to him with his gigantic nose and his hideously frizzy hair he is growing long to cover up the thinning. But we walked through the streets of Cambridge and looked at all the couples and felt irritated. Really fucking irritated. I hate happy couples. My daughter is single too and we signed up to the same dating app. I have to say, her pool is much more attractive than mine….mine are all big belied 50something year olds in mine who will no doubt need viagra to fuck once, never mind all night, who would be happy laying on the sofa or going to the pub…..or even worse going to the pub every sunday afternoon and drinking bitter and then farting all night. I’m not happy to settle for that. Lots of my girlfriends have boyfriends post divorce but they are physically unattractive and they tell me tat the attraction grows, that they are lovely people. Well, I don’t want to suck the cock of anyone unless I find them attractive from the get go.
Sometimes, although I know in my heart that I did not cause him directly to have an affair, I know I played my part, as we all do. My safe place to go is to wonder if I was too fat, too ugly, too boring, too anything, too not enough. I know in my reasonable head its not true. Ive been called beautiful, I’m a model in my spare time. I have an amazing body, no stretch marks, no baggy bits, a peachy arse. I’m fit. Interesting. Funny. Educated. Intelligent. A high sex drive.
So why am I single?
Am I too fussy? Is that wrong?
The guy I was seeing who had a depressive breakdown last month is still depressed, not in contact due to wallowing in his own self pity.
Towards the end of our short relationship, and the reason I suspected he was depressed, he started falling asleep all the time. Once while I was giving him a blow job, how rude of him, and once while he was down on me. Now, a normal person would rationalise that but no not me. In my self blame personal culture, I decided it was because my clitoris was too small and became paranoid that I couldn’t come in 2 seconds and that was why he had fallen asleep.
And I bought a clit pump.
I mean, really! I wasted £40 on something that I have never used and because of him being a fucking depressed cunt. I’m not so annoyed with him as I am with myself.
So, here I am today, feeling sad. Not sure why. I wouldn’t go back, our anniversary was always a rowing day. Always. A disappointment.
I’m waiting for the arrears he owes me to get to court and I think that shall be his anniversary present from me. 20 years on and I am so much stronger, that he cant fuck me around and I will stand up for myself which I never did when I was with him.
Happy Anniversary shit cunt. And thank you for the present. The present is me.