Sunday, 13 January 2013

How finding ‘the one’ is a pain in the arse.

'The One' has been raved on about in all different mediums throughout my twenty two years of existence. But no one has ever told me what happens after this significant moment. Films surreptitiously appear to end just at the ‘you’re the one, Carrie’scene, leaving me rather underwhelmed by the idea of ‘The One’ and I being able to cohabitate in my normal, very ordinary life and call that a ‘happy everafter.’  

I say this because I have, infuriatingly, just found The One. And it’s a tactical nightmare.

Firstly, I did not know that he was The One for a while as he encompasses none of my previous thoughts on what this person should be like. This is sincerely displeasing, my check list remains unchecked:  

That’s not to say there is nothing great about him. I mean, he’s adequate in all of the above things. He makes me laugh, but not twenty four hours a day (though, then again, being woken up to be told a ‘knock knock’ joke would make me seriously reconsider my ‘one’ choosing), he’s sexy, kind of muscular - in the right light -  and I can kiss him without feeling repulsed by his face so he must be adequately good looking.

And he is complimentary, sometimes. He tell me I smell nice and has this habit of fiddling with my hair a little bit. And he whines on and on about the fact he loves me so I suppose that’s a compliment.

He doesn’t really buy me teddies or roses and to be honest I really don’t mind. Besides, I don’t have enough time to keep refreshing the water in roses and those heart teddies kind of creep me out. Let’s face it, no one really likes the girl at work who has just been sent flowers by her boyfriend and drinks her Earl Grey out of a ‘I Lovey Dovey you’ mug. For Christ’s sake people, keep that shit underwraps. 

Anyway, because of my previous rom-com induced desires, when I realised that my boyfriend was The One  it did come as a frustrating surprise.

We were talking, as usual, when the topic began to dwindle into uncertain territory; our most hidden fascinations and desires.

He began, with a short summary of Buffy the Vampire slayer, some sort of leather outfit and a dash of teenage angst. This was all fine; if this was the deepest, weirdest thing he could pull out the bag then I was perfectly content with that. But then it was my turn.

It was something I’d had on my mind for a while and I felt a deep desire to tell him. Partially, as most women do, to test said boyfriend and his ability to react to my darkest secrets with a sense of composure and partially because the secret was so big that I feared if I did not let it out soon, a fiddle in my internet history would cause a catastrophic relationship breakdown. So, with the quick speed of an addict telling you he’s stolen his granny’s necklace for his last hit of Crystal Meth, I blubbered out my confession:

‘I typed ‘zit-popping’ into YouTube most nights and look at the videos for at least an hour. And the worst part is, I really enjoy it’

What followed was quite an intense moment. The heat rose from my chest and into my hamster-like cheeks and the silence caused a barrier between myself and the man whom, two seconds before, I had called my boyfriend.  

But then, after five painful seconds, he merrily chimed in:

‘Ah, that one with the old lady and the vicar is the best, brutal, but sensitive at the same time’

 My heart stopped for a very brief moment and I realised that this person was quite possibly the best chap I’d ever come across. I was certain all other men would cower and run away, throwing up at the mere thought of being with me after that revelation.

But he not only accepted it, but similarly embraced my fascination himself. Wholeheartedly.

Therefore, with that, he was ‘The One’.

What happens next?

So, I’ve said it, he’s my one, I'm his. What in the name of all things holy happens now?

I have a whole list of questions which remain painfully unanswered, no matter how many times I ask Jeeves or search on Google.

I mean, the semantics of it is frustrating enough. We’ve said it twice now, but are you meant to tell each other that they remain your ‘one’ frequently? What if you tell someone they are your one and then never repeat it and ten years later they bugger off for someone else? If that is the case, how often are you meant to say it?

You see! Difficult!

What about life before ‘The One’. Are you meant to stop thinking other people are attractive (in a purely ‘just looking’ kinda way)?

Are you never to argue about silly things, such as not washing up, putting the milk carton back in the fridge when there is hardly any milk left in it, preference in bread and whether you would snog, marry or kill certain celebrities….when  you have established your duelling partner as your ‘one and only’?

I could go on for a while but I fear that more may cause a self-induced brain freeze like when you eat too much ice cream.  

All in all, I’m thoroughly confused by this, and this is why finding the one is a pain in the arse.

But y’know what? I wouldn't change it for the world. He’s well lovely.  

The end. 

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