Sisters Are Doing It To Themselves

Last Saturday night, I was out on the town with a few girlfriends and was faced with a typical teenage girl scenario which, seems to have continued well into our 20s and 30s – 'A' (let’s call her Jane) fancies 'B' (lets call him John) but doesn’t get a look in because 'C' (Jen) spends all night flirting with him and stealing his attention for herself. Except it’s more complicated than it was when we were teenagers - because Jen is married! When I was a shy teenage girl, extremely frustrated by this kind of behaviour in my friends, I had no idea that I would still have to endure it in adulthood. I assumed by this age that we’d all be married and looking after three or four children which hasn’t turned out to plan (thank goodness!) but evidently, from Saturday night’s events, being married doesn’t prevent this behaviour. We will always have insecurities no matter how old or ‘settled’ we are, and flirting with our friends’ man of choice or using some other method of winning a man’s affections over a friend, seems to be the best way to boost a girl's confidence. I’m not saying that we’re all fighting each other to win a man, or that we all secretly hate each other, as I don’t believe that in the slightest. I love my friends to bits and am equally certain that they feel the same (in fact I think my boyfriend is more jealous of my close female friendships than he is of other men!) I just think that maybe, after a little alcohol and male attention, girls can behave in a way that doesn’t help the general cause!

I have spent most of my life as the reliable single friend. You know the one? The one you can rely on to be single forever. I am always there as a shoulder to cry on when my friends have been dumped, I can be relied on for a night out on the pull, or a late night chin wag re. how hard it is to find a man even though we are such amazing girls!! So although my friends are happy that I have finally found myself a boyfriend, I know there is a bit of disappointment that I’m no longer dependably single! And I know I am absolutely capable of this resentment myself. I hate it when my best friends get boyfriends. Or that horrible feeling you get when they’re out on a date and you’re secretly hoping it doesn’t work out so they don’t suddenly disappear into blissful relationshipdom and abandon you!

So what is the answer to this dilemma? I can sit here and tell you that I think it should stop. We should no longer harbour any resentment towards our friends for finding men and leaving us; that Jen should stop flirting with John and do everything she can to support Jane. But it’s not that easy. We’re upset when our friends find men because we value their friendship so much we don’t want to lose it. And we’re jealous because, of course it is hard to see someone so close to you find the very thing that you are desperately searching for yourself. But then, when your very best friends find men, do they really leave you? I know mine are still there to talk when I’m upset about X not replying to my last text message for 48 minutes and does this mean he’s not interested etc. etc. In fact they enjoy the involvement in these trivial single incidents, as they themselves are a little upset to have given all that up for the secure, but less exciting life as part of a couple. I don’t know if there’s ever anything you can do to stop Jen flirting with John, but perhaps this is just a sign that married life isn’t the ideal state that we are all hoping for. These insecurities and need for attention will still be there, so perhaps we should accept them and cut Jen (who I have given rather a hard time here) a little slack!

The Perfect Partnership

There's someone I know my age who as a blue eyed, blonde haired, beautiful baby, a great job and, I had heard, a fantastic marriage. I admit to being slightly envious of her. Last night she told me that more than anything, she wants to spend the rest of her life with someone in a faithful, wonderful partnership, with beautiful children. She's just not sure that she picked the right person to do it with. So what do you do when you already have a child and the dream of being someone's life partner suddenly seems just that - a dream? Because she could leave, but then her family is already fractured. It's a difficult balance to achieve isn't it? There are those of us who hold out for Mr Right but then the boat leaves without us... there are those that take the plunge early but worry it was too early. And then once in a while a couple gets it just right. We all want to be that couple but it would seem that only the rare few will make it.

He Really Is That Into Me.

I take my men to the best places. Back in October, Blue Moon and I ventured forth to the Fulham car pound. Tonight, my Chatterbox and I went in search of the Park Lane car pound. It was quite a mission. Standing outside the Grovesnor hotel, I had to ring the car pound hotline to enquire where exactly on Park Lane I might find my old faithful. The instructions were vague but I was warned not to venture forth alone into what is a huge, dank, underground car park below Hyde Park. Good job I brought Chatterbox along for the ride then ey? And the hotline wasn’t kidding. We walked down never ending, gloomily lit corridors – that really wouldn’t have been amiss in the film “The Shining”. This, I imagine is exactly the place that rapists and murderers might strike. The temptation would just be too great. Think of all the unsuspecting and naïve South West London girls with a penchant for parking in the wrong place at the wrong time, who would never guess that not only would Westminster council thieve one's car but would also deliver it to the equivalent of hell on earth and then tell one to come and get it. Oh yes, it can’t have taken long for the local nutters to work that out. So if I had to venture down these corridors alone, I expect I would be slightly hysterical. As it was, my 6ft 3” Chatterbox gallantly escorted me, even giving me a piggy back over a rather peculiar puddle that came out of nowhere and would have ruined my blue suede shoes.

On the bright side, it was an opportunity if nothing else, to do a bit more chatting which continued, over dinner ( in what felt like heaven after our ordeal) in his cosy local pub in Notting Hill …my car parked outside, this time, with rather more care.

The upshot is this…I had just assumed that Chatterbox was a rather different kettle of fish to Mr Comfort and Blue Moon… he is straight up with me, he always wants to see me, meeting my mother was a minor event, we have weekends away booked two months in advance and he called me his girlfriend before I had even suggested that I might stay the night. So, I reasoned, he was just a different sort of guy to his predecessors. But apparently not. For tonight I learnt that when he met me, he was actually involved in two casual relationships and he had absolutely no interest in making either of them his girlfriend. After our first date, he simply cleared them out of his little black book and delivered them to the relics of distant memory. “But you’re not like that” I muttered at him - confused. “I’m not like that with you” he concluded.

So in other words, he’s quite capable of being just like Mr Comfort and Blue Moon but for whatever reason, with me, he’s not. Which, (seeing as Sister Bridget has already revealed our digestion of self-help books) reminds me of a book called “He’s just not that into you”.

I’ve been hanging onto Blue Moon for so long…analysing every minor suggestion that there might be room for status elevation and all along it was a complete and utter waste of time for he simply was…just not that into me.

And no, I don’t have a fear that Chatterbox will suddenly do a runner. Because anyone that escorts you through hell on earth, carries you over a big puddle, offers to pay half your car pound fine even though it’s clearly not their fault and then takes you to dinner to cheer you up… really is that into you.

Discombobulated

We've had a few complaints recently about the lack of update on 'Sisters'. In December the silly season just took over and in London the silly season really is quite ridiculous. With office parties, friends’ parties and more parties with my charity panto buddies, the days just flew by in a haze of drunken nights and hellish hangovers. But I expect that the real reason for our lack of attention is that Sister Bridget and I have been otherwise engaged. We have each been busy with the nearest thing you could call ‘having a boyfriend'. And I haven’t known what to write, because leaving my single status behind, is like ripping a security blanket off a small child. I am dazed, walking around in a sea of contradictions, my Libran scales are swaying dangerously off balance and whatever I write could be completely wrong tomorrow. I am, to use my new favourite word, discombobulated.

We met on the internet, which apparently is no longer solely the hunting ground of the slightly silvery haired, slightly smutty, married man seeking sex. In fact 3.5 million of the 6 million singletons in the UK are doing it. That’s one hell of a party. So I suppose it was inevitable that eventually someone would pop into my inbox that would cause me to pause mid-mouthful of toast, click eagerly on the ‘profile’ button and devour every word his friend had written about him - thrice.

At this point he had just added me to his ‘favourites’ but not actually contacted me. I reciprocated by dropping him into mine and I waited. With no response forthcoming after a week, I contacted him. We had lift off. His first email made me laugh out loud, the first phone call lasted an hour, the first date until 2am on a school night! I am permanently exhausted because we both suffer from verbal diarrhoea which means we do not stop chit-chatting until the early hours of the morning whether in person or on the phone. In the past, my dating routine has involved spotting someone in a bar; ticking a few boxes… fit √, fit √, fit √, slamming a few margaritas down my neck and then batting my eyelashes. It’s based purely on a primeval instinct. Internet dating is much more of a scientific art. Had his first email not been intelligent, witty and obscure he would not have lasted. In internet dating, a simple “Alright love, fancy a drink?” gets swiftly deposited in the recycle bin… never to be recycled. So our personalities match…and the rest…well it’s different, rather than a roaring log fire, it’s a small flame starting to dance.

Our apparent ease with chatting and our combined passion of red wine has meant that I have committed every faux pas possible in dating rules. I don’t remember much of Sunday…but I know that our joint achievement includes being asked to leave a restaurant three times because we were, ahem, slightly tipsy and he tells me that my sole achievements that day are telling him I love him (cringe) and worse telling him that I’m not sure I believe in marriage anymore but that if he wants to propose in two years time I’ll consider it… (oh yes – good huh?!). My other indiscretions are pretty much unmentionable, albeit to say that as he has yet to frequent my bed, it is probably best not to discuss with him the merits of the Platinum Rabbit.

In conclusion however, I have to say that no-one has ever known so much about me at such an early stage in a relationship and yet still seem, well, pretty into me really. I have a head full of confusing thoughts; and I’m missing my single status security blanket…but for some reason, I think it might be time to try life without it.