Being a bit of a commitment phobe myself, I don't have a particularly good history with men. To be fair, I don't have a horrendous one either, I just don't have all that much of a history at all (apart from the, now infamous, 'Yes, but your name (Josephine, although not English) is acceptable', date). Before anything can happen I have usually convinced myself that nothing could ever happen and it would be most unkind to string the man along any further. This is what I have been telling myself for years anyway, and I'm damn well sticking to it. Between you and I, I think it has far more to do with the fact that I am a coward and it's easier not to let anyone else into the bizarre wee world that I call my life - a friend recently told me that reading/decoding a text message from me is a baffling experience that sometimes leaves him feeling as if he is playing the lottery, responding what he thinks is the correct answer, rather than feeling like he is having a conversation.
When I tell you that my favourite love song as a child was 'I won't send Roses' from the musical 'Mack and Mabel' about the commitment issues of Mack, I think you can all agree that I was doomed from the start.
However, the guy that I currently 'hold a torch for' (let's call him 'The Nice One'...you'll see why) is different. I could actually see myself with him (I know, it surprised me too) AND I don't run away (or ignore him) when he sends me more than two text messages in an hour. I even booked myself a train to visit him recently. The man lives over 200 miles away, so I thought this was pretty good progress. Well, that is I did until my best friend, The Blonde One, pointed out that we had been flirting at a distance for roughly three and a half years, and the only reason, she suspected, that I let myself flirt so whole heartedly to begin with was because he lived so far away and he wasn't an immediate threat. Don't you just hate it when your friends know you better than you know yourself and innocently point out the flaws you weren't even aware you had. And here I was rejoicing in my commitment progress. Commitment phobia
But I am not writing about my commitment issues (if I saw them all written down, I think I might just have to cry into a bowl of mint chocolate chip ice cream before drifting into an unsettled sleep featuring myself dying alone in my flat, not being discovered for months on end, by which time I will have been eaten my a pack of wolves. I don't even own a wolf, let alone a whole pack!). I think I may be digressing, I'm starting to see how my text messages can seem as puzzling as a challenge on 'The Krypton Factor'.
Where was I? Ah, yes, as much progress as I am making with my commitment issues, it matters not, for The Nice One has an even bigger commitment problem than I do, and as I previously stated, lives over 200 miles away. How is this ever going to work and how am I ever going to get over my commitment issues, I hear you ask? The simple answer; Fuck knows. And I think that is the point. The Nice One can see this, The Blonde One can see this, even my flatmate can see this (and very much likes to tease me about it) and somehow I refuse to. Possibly because I have finally found someone that doesn't leave me screaming for the mountain tops of Peru anytime he dare give me a compliment, maybe it's because he doesn't expect too much from me or get cross with my general lack of commitment. Or perhaps, and I do think this is a big reason, perhaps it's because he is too damn nice. Hence the choice of name; The Nice One. I have seriously never met anyone so nice who still manages to have a such an intelligent, witty and ridiculous personality. I am not even slightly exaggerating this time. The Blonde One and The Blonde One's boyfriend introduced him to me many years ago as 'probably the nicest guy you're ever likely to meet'. This should have been my first clue. I am clearly no Jonathan Creek.
Even in the quite periods of our relationship (for want of a better word...ooo, almost scared myself there for a second) The Nice One is just that; nice. Cut it out. When he keeps things on a more friendly and less romantic tone (yes, even commitment phobes can be romantic) and I fear he is slowly 'phasing me out', he never ignores a text or email and will even text to see how I am after a 'nerve wracking' day or send me the latest episode of 'Boardwalk Empire' (oh, how I love) that he has transported onto a disc and sent to my address. Excuse me for being old fashioned, but if you going to be a commitment phobe and (possibly) phase someone out, then at least be a gentleman about it, be a dick and give me a reason to hate you. Isn't that what men are for? Whatever happened to the gentlemanly behaviour of acting like a complete bastard so that it made it easier for the female sex to move on and bitch about what a bastard their last squeeze had been. As luck would have it, I chose to find myself the last remaining 'nice' bloody commitment phobe. Who at all times, even when acting distant is witty, coy and charming all at the same time. Arse!
But that's the damn problem isn't it; he's not an arse. Not even close. And so each and every time I think, 'hang on a tick tock, I think I might be able to start thinking about another man seriously', he rolls in with a 'I hope today went well for you Jo', blah, blah, blah, text after my first day of placement. The Blonde One didn't even remember, but of course, The Nice One does.
I have recently come to the conclusion that if I am ever going to get over my commitment issues and ensure that I don't get eaten by a pack of wolves, I am going to have to either punch The Nice One so he stops being bloody nice to me (I can barely have cross words with someone I dislike intensely), move 200 miles away (GOOD LORD!!) or become a lesbian...
...I do like that Sue Perkins; she's bloody funny and even a little bit of a dish in that 70's wig she dons in 'Supersizers go seventies'...hmmmm.
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