So, I'm supposed to be out on a 'date' tonight. I say 'date' loosely - I'm not entirely sure of the intentions behind this evening but, I was supposed to be dining out with a lovely gentleman who is perfectly charming and the sort of man people write into the middle third of romance novels, just when you thought the heroine was a lost cause.
I'm not there. I'm writing this blog, wearing jogging bottoms and an old hoodie, eating boiled egg on toast. How's that commitment phobia working out for you Lexx?
Pretty freaking well. My own inability to conquer my fear and get out there is relegating me to a life of eggy breath and bad fashion sense.
Of course, I won't spend the whole evening like this - I have a gig later. I'll head up to Camden shortly and entertain (hopefully) feel great about myself and come home and get some sleep. Alone. Which is really what I want. I am quite happy being an entirely self entity at the moment.
But I almost feel bad about it.
In the past few weeks I have a slight spike in the graph charting male attention towards me... it's been very flattering. Almost enjoyable - it's a bit like the two weeks in May when England sees a hint of what summer is like for other countries. You take a quick look at it, notice how much more you're spending on underarm products, enjoy it while it lasts and then you sink back into your comfortable damp rut.
The problem is, when I've been asked out, I haven't really known what to say. When someone asks you if you fancy grabbing a coffee, it's such an innocent question that you can't really say -
"Sorry, I'm not really dating at the moment."
Because they might say, Jeez ,lady, I didn't ask if you wanted to date - I just asked if you fancied coffee.
And saying you're busy for the next few days just leaves the window open for them to ask again. And so what I really want to say is -
"I could go, but I don't want to. I want all my time to myself and for gigging and for doing stuff. I'm sure you're a lovely person but I'm just not interested in getting to know you. I'm having enough trouble keeping in touch with people I've known for years, let alone trying to squash you into the equation. Sorry. I suppose I'm just a selfish cow."
But this isn't really socially acceptable. So you end up feigning illness, diary clashes and or death so you can sit eating eggy delights on the edge of your bed trying to muster the energy to go out.
I think I'm grumpy, dear reader - have you picked up on that yet? Gosh, this might be one of my more open blogs.
I think I'm grumpy because I'm annoyed at myself. I cancelled the 'date'/meet n greet/cult induction through absolute panic. I hate the whole process, I hate worrying if you'll like them, worrying that they'll like you, worrying about etiquette, worrying about how to handle stuff after... and I worry that I might meet someone that really means something. I'm petrified of that.
It either means you have to make space in a carefully crafted life for someone unexpected... or it means unrequited love. Neither of which I think I can cope with for a while. At least not until I've upped my stocks of Veet and chewing gum.
I hope it's OK to be a coward for while. I mean, really it's going to have to be because I don't plan to change... and it's not going to make a massive difference to the world. If anything it'll improve it because I buy free range eggs so my bulk buying will go some way to improving standards for hens. Huzzah.
I could be the next Jamie or Hugh... or whoever. Except that I think they're both married. Bugger.