People ask me why I stay in this relationship if it doesn’t make me happy. ‘You deserve so much better’, they say. ‘You’re an ace person, you deserve to be happy. You’re a vibrant, lovely lady. Lots of men would want you. You’re smart, funny, and a good mate. You’ve got an effing amazing mind and an effing gorgeous body’ (well, OK, the body’s filled out a bit since I was told that one, but it’s not that bad).
So, how come, when I meet someone I like and try to be upfront about my feelings (as opposed to my alternative and equally ineffective approach of hoping he’ll get the message subliminally and take the initiative) I get the old ‘Oh, I don’t think of you in THAT way, can’t we just be friends’ line?
For years I internalised this as meaning that I was sexless and undesirable. But actually, maybe a bit late in the day, I am beginning to get over that. I almost even believe that stuff in the first paragraph, I’ve been told it enough times by enough people (though mostly by women or by men who are quick to make plain that for them I will always be in the ‘just friends’ category).
Maybe the answer is that I don’t get out there and kiss enough frogs (used in the generic, rather than the specific, sense here). It’s like the lottery analogy, I never buy a ticket, so why should I expect a jackpot winner to just fall through my letter box?
But I can’t really do that while I’m still theoretically in a relationship, however unsatisfactory. And am I prepared to jump out of what I have, tear up the roots of thirty years, go it alone without a plan?
And what about all those frogs? Is kissing frogs (again, in the generic etc etc) really what I want? Can I be bothered with it all? Maybe 10 or 15 years ago it seemed like an exciting prospect, but these days I think of the majority of the men I know and, well, a different metaphor springs to mind, something about needles and haystacks. It all seems too much like hard work, for a very uncertain reward.
So I stick with what I know, and I look for ways to escape, however temporarily, and I indulge in my dreamy fantasies.
I’m not really waiting for the perfect knight. Galahad would be no use to me. But I’d settle for Percival.
Or even the perfect frog.