Okay, so, I fancy myself as a Carrie Bradshaw, a la ‘Sex and The City’, with my ‘Holding Hands in the Countryside’ homage. There are similarities – we both write about dating ... Actually, that’s where the similarities end. She is a fictional character. She wakes up looking fabulous and rocks the most bohemian outfit with coiffed hair, which typing away on her laptop with steaming coffee from her awesome, clean and tidy apartment in NYC.
Being a pretend person, she can describe at length every aspect of her relationships, including that with her no 1 guy, Big. I, on the other hand, tend to jot my blogs on the ‘notes’ on my iPhone, often late at night, between two snoring children, with pjs that have seen better days and then upload to my blog, with little or no proofing, to my laptop. The other rather big issue is that I am dating someone who is intensely private and therefore, not keen on any kind of exposure on the W W W, despite good wishes and comments from my readers who are only dying for the goss.
Mr Private has met so few of my family and friends, that it’s quite possible that he doesn’t exist at all. Like the character on the US children's TV series Sesame Street, Mr. Snuffleupagus, you will have to decide for yourself if Mr Private is real, or if this Big Bird imagined it all.
Maybe if I could share a bit I could convince you? What’s to know? Interesting fact of the day?
He loves Rice Krispies.
I assumed when I was rummaging in his cupboards (as you do, when you are newly dating someone), that the crisped rice cereal was for pint sized visitors, but no, this grown man walked among with aisles of supermarket choice and opted for this culinary feast to start his day.
I feel bound to stay with him long enough to adjust his taste buds to something more grown up. He had his first pancake making lesson with me at the weekend. It was messy, no one got hurt and we both got fed. It’s one of those many bite-your-lip moments when you are getting to know someone, where you say NOTHING for fear that he thinks you are trying to change him ( … as if… ). Like when he puts on THOSE SHOES again and in your head you are thinking ‘you are fucking kidding me’ and imagining them decommissioned to the bin.
The alternative - I could throw in the Rice Krispie towel and buy him Superman pyjamas?
It’s strange how he has put his arm around me at football matches surrounded by thousands of people, kissed me on a train station platform packed with commuters and held my hand in city centres. And yet, we remain largely invisible, but there in the moment, it all feels very real.