![]() ![]() Even better, his duvet didn't smell of mildew, and he lived within walking distance of the tube. Sparks didn't exactly fly, but he was a friendly guy who paid me plenty of compliments, and it was nice to put an end to my sex drought. ("Bloody hell, look how floppy my balls have gone!" he exclaimed at one point.) ![]() There, we had sex a few times, accompanied by the kind of patter I thought you only heard in Danny Dyer movies. But I thought back to the last few attempts I'd made at hooking up – the guy who never called, the one who told me he "only goes for really fit girls" and the one who was put off by the fact that I don't like beetroot – and thought, "Why not?"Īpologising to my friend (who, instead of being put out, whooped, high-fived me then peered out of the window to gawp at the man who had finally persuaded me to ditch my three-inch-thick rulebook), we left the pub and got a cab to his place.* He wasn't even the second cousin of the Duke of Charming. "We need to do something about that, don't we darlin'?" "F*ckin' hell, you're kidding me?" he gawped. We'd barely even introduced ourselves before we were outside, snogging like teenagers. Although he was only about 5ft 5in, he was dressed well and pretty good-looking, with a line in smooth banter I had no doubt he'd used a million times before.Īnd he made me laugh, which I'm a total sucker for, and was only 28 – seductively flattering for someone whose ex's new girlfriend is eight years her junior. Kids, eh?), and I've always secretly hoped to keep my 'number' in single digits.īut then last week, I got chatting to a guy in the local bar where I was meeting my friend and her new boyfriend. My nickname at work is 'Grandma' ("It's not your age, it's your attitude," apparently. In that time, I've had a couple of boyfriends, with plenty of space in between for hooking up with men who weren't quite right for anything more than a bit of fun.Īdmittedly, I'm more prudish than most. Not ever.Īlthough I've spent much of my adult life in long-term relationships, I've been single for most of the last four years. So I don't know how, with so many of my friends crawling into work sporting bed-head and yesterday's clothes, I managed to hit 35 without having a one-night-stand. "And I don't even know what a capsule wardrobe is, let alone have one." Your friends are a much better barometer of what kind of life stage you should be at, hence the otherwise inexplicable popularity of sitting indoors in a onesie and pictures like this ( gun fingers girl, we salute you). "Why haven't I swum with a dolphin yet?" you wail. They're fun to share on Facebook, but usually leave you feeling as left out as a coffee Quality Street. There are fewer things more depressing than 'Things To Do Before You're 20 / 30 / Dead' lists. ![]()
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