I’ve wanted to do a guest post on this blog since it started. When Lauren began posting, she mentioned that I have lots of brilliant stories I could submit to entertain you all with. However instead of giving you hilarious/embarrassing titbits, I thought I’d delve deep into my relationship history, dropping the word ‘psychiatrist’ and making out-dated references. Strap in and don’t sue me…
This might sound like the tagline to a late 00’s Katherine Heigl movie but I bear with me as I make the next bold statement.
Every single man I have gone out with has found their long-term signif other right after me.
To clarify, I’m not some kind of Hitch-style improver. I did not set out to do this in any way – it just always happens. Let me explain with enough examples to make you either believe me or think I’ve had far too many relationships…or both.
(Names have been ever so slightly and rather pointlessly changed)
Ah my first love. First everything actually. The kind of relationship you look back on and think, oh my god, have they shaped everything I am today? Probably, but that’s for another £42-a-go psychiatrist sesh. Picture it: 2005, late night MSN chats, stalking him at his work and many a coffee date leading to us being MySpace official. Mark and I were together for around a year I think, but when you’re 16, that seems like aaaages. Long story short, we broke up a few weeks before my final 6th year exams. Cried ALL over my Adv Higher History paper on the Weimar Republic (still passed) and thought the world had ended. I listened to Konstantine on repeat, sassed about him on my livejournal etc, etc, etc. A short while later, Mark started dating Christina. Luckily for him, she is an absolute babe who’s also lovely, down to earth and yeah, he’s definitely punching! To clarify, I’m friends with both of them. It’s been over 10 years now, we’re over it. They’re still together and live in a lovely flat they own. Chalk up one on the board.
I’ve chosen the absolute worst fake names for these people, it sounds like I’ve dated accountants from Slough. I met Alan at the end of my first year of University. Literally almost 7ft tall, life of the party, liked Less Than Jake and drank Tennent’s lager unironically. The absolute emo-uni-boy dream. 3 years of dragging his drunk boney body up his stairs so he didn’t sleep in the close, getting me hooked on presenting my student radio show, teaching me about good Scottish music and joining me on many a family holiday. My parents LOVED him, as did I, but unfortunately it wasn’t to last. He was getting very busy (read: semi-famous) through his career and his passion for working hard was meaning he just didn’t have time for my constant need for attention. We stayed pals until he met his current girlfriend. I say until as she refused to let him be friends with me and he’s now blocked me on all social media…just me though, not my Mum. She likes to update me on things occasionally, ‘Oh Alan passed his driving test!’ Ok Mum, it’s been 8 years, get over him. He’s still with that girlfriend and I think they live together. Chalk up another one, I smell a trend.
I’m laughing at these name changes. Anyway, Paddy came pretty quickly after Alan. We’d kinda been friends for years and I’d always fancied him, ever since the MySpace days (sorry Mark). He was an absolute babe though, a girl once ran up to him when we were together thinking he was the guy from Biffy Clyro. Oh man I felt so smug. We were together for over 3 years. I think. I’ve probably mentally blocked a lot so these figures might not be correct, don’t quote me. We lived together, we had a hamster, we shared a lot of ups and downs and I think we were too young to be that serious, that quickly. It all went to absolute shit and I’ll definitely take most of the blame for that. A very messy, long break up ensued. He kept the hamster and she died not long after. I‘m not accusing him of pet-murder – this is relevant because I think the last time I properly spoke to him in person was to collect her sad little body to bury in my Granny’s garden. How depressingly symbolic. Luckily for Patrick, breaking up with me has seemed to be the best thing for him. We don’t speak now but instead hover gently around each other’s lives by still following each other on Twitter. From that I can see that not only is he living with the lovely girl he met after me, but they have a baby and he owns a fancy little hipster coffee shop. Living the dream! Another mark on the chalkboard please.
That’s a better name, sounds like a Scottish babe. He wasn’t. In fact he was a ginger half-Englishman. Nothing really wrong with that, but so so many things wrong with the relationship. It started out rather tumultuously. We worked together, he was a pal, I fancied him, he fancied me etc etc. I wanted to turn sex into a relationship, he wasn’t keen. I flipped out, made him jealous. Then he was keen, I wasn’t. Oh Christ, it was all over the place. We ended up being a ‘proper’ couple and realised that we probably shouldn’t have bothered. He had just graduated and had to move home to the arse end of the country so I wasn’t getting to see him. Then he fucked off to the other end of the country to work and I was the one made to feel guilty for not making an effort. We broke up on the phone after a particularly stressful day and I told him where to go… Then I put on some heels and downed some wine, went out out and took home a handsome rugby boy. I can thoroughly recommend the ‘get under to get over’ therapy. Anyway… He met his current fiance (I kid you not) about 2.5 seconds after me so I feel no guilt. They live together and I had a delightfully awkward meeting with her at a wedding last year – she’s really nice! Get the chalk out, we’ve got another one.
Haha. Ok, so ‘Brian’ was a buff butler. Not kidding. A legit, apron wearing, baby oil covered, bum out buff butler. This meant he was ridiculously built and had a great bum. He was also funny AND good to me. He was a triple threat. We dated for a good six months and it hit that ‘where are we going?’ moment. It appeared he was going…on Tinder. Brian wasn’t, as he described, ‘a one woman man at this age’. Give him some credit, he was very honest about it. I cried, he cried, he left. Before he did, he said to me ‘If I was ready for a girlfriend, it would be you, no doubt.’ Next thing I see in his minimal social media presence was a lovely looking blonde lady. I was given the inside scoop when one of my friends was seeing his flatmate – she was his girlfriend. I guess I didn’t have enough (i.e. any) abs. I think they are still together, let me go stalk him on social, hold on.
Yup. That makes it a solid 5 on the board. Only one more to go, I promise.
This was very short and very sweet. Derek was an absolute puppy. Cute, excitable, young and did I mention young? I was pushing 27 by this point and he was a fresh 21. Did you just cringe a bit? Fair. He was just so bloody lovely though. Facebook official, the works, but it hit a bump early on and we had to cut it short. Mainly because he wanted to join the Navy and I wasn’t about the ‘Is he dead at sea?’ life. That and let’s be honest…HE WAS 21. I couldn’t see for a gin haze for most of my early twenties and he was dating an old lady who wanted hot chocolate on a Friday night – it wasn’t fair. A few weeks after we, very amicably, broke up, he met a cracking red-head who was his age, his interests and as they are still together, his ideal. She’s a lucky lady and I hope they last the joys of mid-twenties ‘who am I?’. Put down the chalk, we’re done.
I’d like to hope that the trend is over. I’m 30 at the end of this year and my boyfriend Julian (ahahah that’s the best pseudonym yet) likes to sit on the couch after work with me to do nothing but enjoy each other’s company and delicious dinners he’s made us, watch wrestling and occasionally laugh at each other’s farts. I’m pretty sure that makes him the one.
So what was the point in this, if it wasn’t to sit and relive all your break ups over the years. Ok it was a bit therapeutic but come on, EVERY SINGLE ONE HAS FOUND THE ONE AFTER ME.
If this is in any way making you go ‘oh my god she’s magic, can I go out with her and then find the one?’ Eh, no. I have a boyfriend and I’m not Hermione bloody Granger. Maybe I had some kind of effect on some part of their ‘relationship brain’. Now, was this to improve them in some way that meant they were more prepared to take on an adult relationship? Maybe. More likely, I probably messed them up a bit and the next person was a lot nicer than me and that’s why it lasted? Either way, I’m a lucky charm and you’re all fucking welcome.
*Editor’s Note: After this article was submitted for posting, Alan got engaged. Congrats Alan! Make time for her.