It really was the ceilidh that did it. It was the ceilidh that confirmed that I absolutely could not let this one become just a meaningless name in an inbox. It was the spontaneous ceilidh that ended up being our third date, of which I left elated and sweating with my make up halfway down my face and very much in dizzy disbelief that it had actually just happened.
And now two months later, I have a boyfriend, who is actually quite nice, and who does not make me feel ridiculous just for being myself. I have somebody to constantly laugh with, be rubbish at dancing with and even go to trampoline parks with. So in that sense, my l-o-v-e life is now one big Canadian Barn Dance. I am a Gay Gordon. I Stripped the Willow into a relationship with a genuinely great dude.
(...sorry, sorry)
Of course, I had been single for a while, and getting into the swing of the "relationship" thing has been the less romantic part of the romantic process. You just grow so used to yourself, telling your shitty self deprecating jokes about why you're still single, hanging out with your friends who are couples and loving the glow they have together whilst also wondering if you'll ever have that, too. Even when I was contentedly single, the question was still asked.
I'm starting to get what "that" really is now, I think. If anything, it's irritably mumbling "man, you snore so fucking much. Do you know that? S'like being spooned by a tractor" first thing when they wake up, rather than a pleasant "good morning", and wanting to kick them in the face because you got no sleep and have to work that day. But you don't. You still end up a big grinning, blushing mess, just because they're there. Then you audibly hear your friends groaning and making vom noises in the back of your head somewhere.
Obviously, in the months since I've last blogged, my relationship status isn't the only thing that changed. I moved into a lovely, modern flat with my startlingly domestic best friend, who brightens up my life in every single way. She just gets it, and we get each other, and we really do get that dishwashing is the worst task ever but hey, somebody's gotta do it. We're like a newly married couple with a consistently fantastic make up game.
Before that, a week in May was spent squawking about Game of Thrones in the unbelievably beautiful Dubrovnik, where we dedicated a solid 70% of conversation to the show. The other 30% was really just mentioning how bloody hot it was, and when really was the right time to dig out the maxi dresses. (answer - for walking the famous City Walls. Very Cersei Lannister)
Yet one thing Cersei Lannister most definitely did not do was submit herself to capitalism time and time again. Yep, Superdrug also reeled me back in, so I'm back to being the Least Competent Sales Girl In Retail for the summer. This isn't even self deprecation! Unlike my last stint, there's even new staff now to delicately ask our manager "has she...ever actually been trained? Or is she just shit?" I like to think I bring a bit of glamour to the table above all else. Or at the very least, increased lipstick sales.
But what good is red lipstick if it's not framed by the right length of hair? Indeed, I ruined my 'do again since I can't decide what to do with it and am clearly doomed to having it forever at the "inbetweeny stage". The life of my 'fro is just an on-going follicular fiasco. I love my hair short, it's cool I can get away with it...but what if I looked better with it long? What if long hair catapulted me to previously unknown realms of 'hot'? Well, I still don't know.
Still, these past few months have genuinely been good to me. My life has shifted into the right direction, and I have all my limbs crossed for it to stay that way. As if to emphasize this further, Tesco had those massive bars of Dairy Milk for under two quid last week, which was a bit inconsiderate given I'm very loosely committing myself to being "healthy", but I'll definitely accept them. You know the type, the ones you would give as presents, which are around the size and weight of toddlers. Obviously I bought two of these things, and now there's only a few squares left. But I'm not gonna look like Rihanna at this rate, which was the key aim of the summer before third year of university begins.
Now this begs the question, more pressing and urgent than it previously ever was - what do I really want more? A peachy bum or state of mind?
