I debated, debated long and hard about writing this post. From someone who used to pour her heart out every night on here I seem to have been keeping you at arms length with any real feelings, anything deeper than a glimpse at what I might have been doing, who I might have been spending my time with.
Ladies, I might have hinted but now I am coming clean. I went on a date. A couple of dates. I think we might say it could have been classed as "seeing" each other. It didn't work out. And it wasn't the end of the world. Yes I just wrote that, me, the eternal romantic the dangerously in love falling quicker than Naomi Campbell on a runway kind of girl.
I woke up on the year anniversary of breaking up with the exboy with, well, the exboy. Not like that (cheeky) he'd crashed at mine after working too late to get the last train. The very next day I went on my very first date, talk about timing huh? Drinks and dinner quickly became a weekly event, sure he was more concerned with making sure I wasn't telling anyone, I was rubbish at replying to messages and with mutual friends it was always going to be a little bit awkward but it seemed pretty cool. Causal. Weekends in the latest art exhibits, afternoons in London's nicest pubs and bars - did I tell you on our first date I got so drunk by the time we made it to this amazing pizzeria in carnaby street I physically couldn't eat anything? After months of telling myself, telling anyone who would listen, that I was ready to get back on that horse it suddenly started dawning on me that maybe I wasn't. Christ it took me a year to start dating, what was I doing trying to leap straight into something normal and nice? Give me a different date a week, a million first kisses, some absolute shit bags of men then let me settle down and make a proper go of it. Does that make sense?
The more things started to become defined the more I freaked out, like some awful Cameron Diaz character in some awful film. I was probably quite a bit of a nightmare but when you know, you know.
Nevertheless I feel I deserve a gold star, a certificate, I did it. I can do it. 23 is a strange age to have your first proper date but it's a great age at that - we all know uni relationships come about from drunken nights in the su after all. It may have come to nothing but I've jumped over that first hurdle. I've done what I never imagined would happen again. And maybe, just maybe, in another years time Someone else will ask me out and I'll say yes that would be lovely and maybe it might just work and maybe, just maybe though, I'll tell you all about it.