“Good things come to those who wait.” Or, an exercise in the unexpected.

You know that moment, in the films, when The Girl walks into a party, spots The Boy from across the room and the rest of the world disappears around them? Complete fiction, right? Well, I used to think so too. Until this weekend, when it happened to me.

To set the scene properly, it’s probably important that you know a couple of things:

1. It wasn’t the first time that we’d seen each other. I’d met this particular boy – let’s call him Ciaran – at a mutual friend’s house party around 18 months ago. We had – of course – spent most of the evening together, fuelled by too many drinks and the pursuit of innocent-enough attention. But he was living in Leeds at the time and I had gone home with Robbie (that friend-with-some-benefits who you might remember from this Valentine’s post).

2. I had spent around 90 not-exactly-sober minutes on the phone to an ex-boyfriend the previous evening, discussing how we probably shouldn’t hook up the following night, but that we were very good at spooning and my house would be quite convenient after the party… (In case you were wondering, this ex- would be James, also name-checked in this post. Sigh.)

For complete disclosure it’s also worth pointing out that I had already had to put myself to bed that afternoon as a result of one-too-many mimosas at brunch, but had somehow found a second wind and been at the pub for several hours before stumbling into the Uber across town… I am nothing if not committed to the cause.

Clearly, then, as I arrived at the party and threw myself into acquiring (even more) gin, Ciaran couldn’t have been further from my mind.

And then I saw him. And he saw me. And then he was rather closer to my mind (read: face) than he had been in a fair while.

And that’s how I ended up taking him home at 6am.

To tell you the truth, I don’t even know how it happened. He was (so I am told) far from the most attractive man at that party and (one thing I do remember) he was absolutely not who I thought was going to be waking up next to me on Sunday morning. I had even agreed with my housemate that we’d “call it” at midnight as to whether this ex- of mine and the man she is on/off sleeping with would both be waking up at our house!

But it was almost as if it was a done deal from the moment we saw each other across the room. (Albeit a bit less romantic than the films would have you believe.)

Perhaps it’s because we’d never quite managed to meet for a drink (read: hookup) although we’d spoken about it quite a few times. Perhaps it’s because we were – at last – just in the same place at the same time, after missing each other at several parties since that first one. Perhaps it was just the easiest option because we live in separate cities and there could be no expectation past that night?

Or perhaps it’s because neither of us have any self-control.

Whatever the reason, it just goes to show that not everything in those films is made up That time-stands-still moment can happen in real life. It’s just that the real life version ends with a kiss in the taxi as The Girl waves The Boy off to get the train back home. And that’s happily-ever-after enough for me. For now.

Evidence that Post-Its don’t work

It hasn’t escaped my attention that the last post published on this blog was in April. That’s – gulp – almost 5 months ago. And it was about Valentine’s Day (in February, lest we forget.) Goodness me.

In my defence, I’d like to remind everyone that I had been planning to do this for four years before eventually getting round to it, so I might still call it an achievement. But I accept that it hasn’t really been an, erm, consistent endeavour and so I plead for your forgiveness. What happened? I found a boy.

Of course.

Oh, irony of ironies, I got so distracted by dating a wonderful man that I had neither time nor inclination to make bad decisions, let alone blog about them! I was so swept up in the excitement that a) online dating had actually worked and that b) I was going on dates with someone I was into that I neglected to write anything at all about how it had all come to pass.

Well then.

You can see that things might have changed a little. Hello again, horrible world. (I jest. I got very, very drunk a lot of times and things are better now. Almost.)

These last few months have taught me something valuable though: convenience > commitment. The thing about commitment is that you have to want it and you have to mean it. Convenience is, well, convenient – and that makes it easier to choose. That sounds obvious, right? – and I suppose it is. When push comes to shove, how many times have we all committed to something and then taken the easier option? A morning fitness class we’ve ducked out of because we’ve not slept well? Dinner with a friend we’ve promised and then never quite got around to arranging? I’m guilty on both counts. And of course – of not writing about dating because just doing the dating was easier. Even though I’ve had BLOG written on a bright pink Post-It stuck to my computer screen at work for almost 5 months. And even though I’ve often thought about it.

Don’t get me wrong: sometimes convenience is the better option. Sometimes that extra hour in bed will do you more good than any sunrise Zumba class ever could. Sometimes not going on that date in favour of ordering pizza with your housemate is the best decision you could have made that evening. But sometimes it’s important to pay attention to that reminder – Post-It or otherwise – before it’s suddenly been almost half a year with no evidence of commitment. (Just so that we’re all keeping up here: it was much easier [more convenient] for me not to even raise the question of a proper relationship [commitment] with this man just in case he didn’t want it. This in turn made it much easier for him to disappear in the end.)

I know myself well enough to not make any bold statements about commitment here. I’m not making any promises. But I’m going to try really, really hard. (And I might even write about him one day.)