There was a day when I was about 9 and I just didn’t feel like going to school. I had learnt from an early age that there was no pulling the wool over my mum’s eyes when it came to being sick. Short of having a temperature of a 110° and growing new appendages in weird and unusual places, you were getting a tablespoon of Multivite/ Niverquine (depending on what kind of mood she was in), putting on your Bata sandals and going to school. So it was a good thing she was away when I decided to pull a sicky to get out of the fact that I hadn’t written some boring essay. I walked to my dad’s room; put on the appropriate I’m about to die face and knocked on his door.
Another thing I had learnt from an early age was that my dad is not a morning person and has no clue what to do with children. He likes his sleep. So me banging on his door was not appreciated.
“What do you want”? He yells from behind the door.
“I’m sick daddy”.
“What’s wrong with you”?
“I have a headache and my tummy hurts”.
“Fine, go back to sleep”.
End of conversation and mission accomplished.
I crawled back to bed and sniggered into my pillow as my saddo brother was dragged into the waiting car to several hours of pointless learning (I am still yet to find a situation where the Pythagorean theory comes in handy). Now looking back on that day I feel crappy. Not because I lied (I do that everyday. If I ever felt guilty about it I would be a total nutter in need of intensive therapy) or that I took joy in my brothers pain but because that was obviously the day they took all the girls into a separate room and taught them the 10 simple rules on having and keeping a relationship. Damn you! Mr Amadu and your stupid Muslim studies essay.
It’s happening again…Snogger dude has turned into a total weirdo and I’ve spent the last week looking for an NHS funded loony bin to check myself into. I spend all my time crying and singing, “Unbreak my heart” by Toni Braxton. Well I had to stop singing after the tenant association voted to evict me from my flat if the “Unholy howling” as they called it continued. I was hoping all this misery would help me lose some of my roundness but its actually having the opposite effect. But what the hell do I care. I did not attend or graduate from Relationship 101 so no point even attempting to look cute to get into another one.
Nope! No more of the opposite sex for me. I’m going adopt lots of cats and gerbils (I just like the word gerbil) and move to a cottage on a hill in Wales. I’ll knit jumpers for my cats cause its cold in Wales. Yep! That sounds like a plan to me. I know you’re all screaming "Mena don’t do it"!!!! You’re to lovely to be lost to the world knitting mittens for kittens (Hehe! That rhymes). Fine! I know you guys aren’t mentally capable of surviving without my words of wisdom. But something has to be done about my total lack of dating skills or my internal magnet that attracts every psycho, sex pervert and relationship phobic within a 5-mile radius. I simply can’t take another relationship catastrophe or I will simply have to find a way to grow facial hair and become a lesbian who lives on a hill in Wales knitting mittens for kittens.
Before I take drastic steps lets analyse me as a girlfriend. For once you guys might actually have some intelligent insight into my dilemma. Not holding my breath so you guys don’t hurt yourselves by thinking to hard.
WHAT MAKES MENA AN AWESOME GIRLFRIEND
I know I’m weird, have dodgy habits and can be a tad psycho but these are all loveable aspects of my personality once you get used to them. They make me interesting and fun to be with.
I’m a little round but its not like he was blind and didn’t see my baby bump before he asked me out. Anyway, I only look 3 months pregnant when I’m wearing my super pants.
Hmmm…Maybe I shouldn’t have drawn a face on my tummy and made it look as if it was singing by swaying side to side though. I thought it was hilarious but he did look kinda scared.
I’m not even concerned about my snogging skills because I have several written references testifying to my awesomeness in that department.
I can cook and I’m not talking dodo and eggs like some people whose names I won’t mention. Of course I’m not talking about you Grays nee SE Chick.
I brush my teeth.
I bathe regularly with smelly girly stuff. He sometimes says he doesn’t like my Bodyshop stuff as the all smell like food and it makes him hungry (Yep! He’s a weirdo). He doesn’t want to be thinking about food when he’s nibbling on my ear apparently. Like I care. The stuff costs a fortune and as long as it doesn’t get in the way of a good ear nibbling he can think I’m fruit salad for all I care.
I shave my legs, pittys and other areas. Yes sometimes he gets all baby like and sulks when I use his razor telling me I blunt the blade. What’s he saying exactly…that my body hair is made from titanium steel or what?
I only nag when absolutely necessary, like when he forgets to tell me how lucky he is to have me or chews his food in that caveman like manner or when he ignores me for football or when he doesn’t stroke my legs with the right amount of pressure or when he dozen’ t remember that its the anniversary of the first day he said the word girlfriend, cute, sexy or sleep over or….
Ok maybe I need cut back on my constant but highly constructive comments.
When the time is right he will benefit from the extensive knowledge gained from my pop-up Karma Sutra Manual. He keeps asking when the time will be right and I keep telling him when I need glasses from constantly being blinded from the glare of my yellow diamond engagement ring. Joker! No ones milking this cow without a down payment.
I pretend to listen when he starts going on about sports, politics and how many miles per gallon some blooming sport car goes. Obviously he does catch me out once in awhile and then I have to think fast before he gets moody. I find any sentence involving boobs; sex or booty usually distracts him long enough for me to wriggle out of it. Try this one ladies …when he says are you listening to me just go” Sorry baby. My bra just snapped and my boobs are just all over the place. Hang on while get changed” Wait a couple of minutes and then just go “Sorry baby…you were saying?” This buys you time to catch the end of Eastenders and avoid a night of your man sulking. Yes! I am a genius.
So tell me…what man wouldn’t want me?
So I just don’t get it.