because none of us is fucking up like we think we are, is what i'm trying to say

Thursday, 25 November 2010


I was watching that ITV thing with my Nanna- the one that's on in the day where the main contestant has to pick three people to cook for them and based on the meal picks a winner to date. I don't know what it is called, "You'll Never Get This Half-Hour Back" maybe; I just know that there were some cute-ass boys on there. I don't know what the cute boys were saying, either. THEY WERE CUTE.

"Oh! Well hello there Jamie!" I exclaimed as another cutie-patootie came on the screen. It's something I do a lot. I don't have a TV in the House of Pastelle (I find many other ways to pass the time, though, don't you worry) so whenever I pop to see mum and dad it's a bit overwhelming that at the click of a button I can choose from hundreds of channels with any number of interesting views to keep me occupied. The weatherman, the man on the news, the man on the Tesco advert, the man on the car insurance advert, the man on the John Lewis advert, the man on Emmerdale.

It's a bit like shopping for men without leaving the house. The man at the bank, the man on the bus, the man that serves you your sandwich, the man behind you in the queue- they're all there in front of you and you can stay in your pajamas AND EVERYTHING.

Nanna looked at me. "Anybody special in your life?" she asked me, because let's face it. I'm 24. I should have a ring on my finger and two bambini by now. Not rubbing my thighs over Derek massaging an Oxo cube into some lard.

"I've got a different somebody special for every night of the week," I told her. "And a spare just in case." She ignored me. I didn't think it was a good idea to push it and tell her I wasn't even joking.

I don't need an actual boyfriend, you see. I've got two.

Calum and Lee.

Okay, well they are actually each other's boyfriend but sometimes they let me snuggle, too. The gays? LOVE 'EM. Nothing complicated, everything simple, perfect. They listen about my career traumas, laugh at my Dannii Minogue impressions and feed me vodka. We talk about love and sex and boys and realise that life is serious enough without being all depressed about it. When I am around them it's all, "On to the next!" rather than, "And then he never text me back and I just don't know what to do..." No competition, no drama, nothing to bring us down.

I text Calum the other to say, "Must come over and Facebook stalk cute boy who has been reading uni mag and added me." He text back within seconds and said, "Lee and I had a look when we saw you had become friends- we presumed that what with him having a penis relations would occur." Then he probably said something inappropriate about Harry Styles from Wand Erection. He's legal, though. We checked.

How can I not be in love with that?

And when we do piss each other off? Dead easy: we say so. The rule is that you just push your palm into the other one's face and say, "You're being a nob," and the other one has to say, "Sorry. I'll stop now." AND THEN WE NEVER MENTION IT AGAIN.

And so when I need to feel the weight of a man, I go to them for a cuddle. When I need a friend to tell me that I'm just the wrong side of slutty without there being an agenda that I might pull and they won't, I go there. When I need perspective that writing a short story that doesn't set my workshop on fire doesn't mean the world has actually ended- it's their schnapps I drink.

In short. No, Nanna. There is not somebody special in my life. There are two- and they are just perfect. They don't even mind if I go and sleep with somebody else.
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