We've all had them, the traumatic moment when you realise that you're going to end up a 50 year old spinster who gets eaten by her cats and no-one notices till two weeks later. Unloved and alone. I'm going to let you into a little secret, I recently got dumped. Heartlessly tossed into the gutter. Rejected. Tragically left to wither, lonely and hurt. Ok, it wasn't quite as dramatic as that. All things considered it was very civilized and amicable. However, I'm going to explain how I got through the lonely evenings before I decided that I would probably survive.
If you've ever seem the film Bridget Jones you'll know this scene:
Well, this is what I was reduced to. I know, pathetic right. I sat in my room listening to ADELE wallowing in self pity, swigging Malibu straight from the bottle. I even had my own tub of ice cream in the freezer I was getting through so much of the stuff. You think I'm joking. I'm not. I lay on my bed in my pants and sang into my hair brush.
I regressed to being about 7 on a few evenings when I decided to see if my life could get any worse by seeing what would happen if I had no knees. This resulted in me walking around my house with my knees locked straight for a few hours. I can conclude that my life would be worse if I was unloved and had no knees. I also started going to bed at about half eight (although this was probably the Malibu)
Now, I'm not unattractive (at least I don't think I am) and I'm sure that I will find someone with whom I will share many an evening watching university challenge, drinking red wine and discussing, I don't know, Shakespeare? But until then I feel there will be just as many nights spent with my two favourite guys, Mr Ben and Mr Jerry (just kidding, like I could afford Ben and Jerrys, own brand all the way!)
And hey, Bridget Jones pulled both Colin Firth AND Hugh Grant, even with massive knickers. There must be hope for me yet.
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