Me, myself and I

25 Sep

I have always fancied sleazy men

“Who are you?” My husband sent me a text yesterday morning while I was still on holiday, but I thought he’d delivered it in error because moments earlier I texted him to ask if he could put a wash on. The kids had most likely run out of clean underwear in my absence. Either his question meant he didn’t have my number programmed into his phone (unlikely) or he was getting all deep.

I was on a grown-up holiday with my mother, sister and daughter, one without 6am wake ups, the need to erect tricky travel cots and the monotony of endless nappy changes. Only a few hours in, I got a taste of how my life could have been had I mothered just the one child and decided to remain single thereafter.

I never texted my husband back because I didn’t entirely know what he had meant. However, having landed safely back on home turf last night, I began to think about his question. “Who am I?” could be answered in so many ways, and it could all get a bit existential or weird.

My holiday did give me time to remember just what I enjoyed, though. It is hard to separate what defines me from how I define events, but before the days of picking up other people’s mess I was so much clearer about the things that I needed and wanted in my life. I was clearer about what I could achieve. Having the time to re-visit these feelings was very refreshing.

So husband, in no particular order, here are the answers:

I am a hedonist. I seriously enjoy drying myself after a shower with the hairdryer (the hotel bathroom had a super-strength one right next to a full-length mirror.) I’ve realised that this method might not be possible at home, as the only reachable spare plug socket in our bedroom sits right next to the curved window that faces the opposite couple’s bedroom window. I bet Sam and Stella, even though in their eighties, have never seen the full effect of a pubic blow dry with a diffuser. Impressive.

I’m essentially kind. I gave up a pool-side sun lounger for a woman the other day, because she looked nice.

I can be cruel too. I saw a woman had nabbed my Vanity Fair without asking, and even though I’d read it cover to cover I felt annoyed that she’d taken it. I went over and asked for it back (with a smile).

In general, I have terrible taste in men (you being the exception). I fancy really greasy-looking waiters. Always have done, probably always will do.

I think I’m really good at some things even though I have low self-esteem. The things I like to imagine I’m excellent at are things I never have to demonstrate, like the butterfly stroke. If you’ve ever heard me talk about swimming, you’d think I was an Olympian, just because I won a relay at school once. Unfortunately, our daughter asked me to swim a length doing the butterfly on holiday. Everyone laughed and at that point I realised, thank god, that I am actually also quite good at laughing at myself.

I obsess about other people’s lives. A lot. You’ve always known this about me. But it’s only because I’m interested in what makes people tick. This holiday, I couldn’t take my eyes off a German couple. He really fancied himself and thought he was very worldly. She wore white waistcoats over peach coloured t-shirts and looked at him with nothing but love in her eyes. He spoke four languages, and took great pleasure in telling us one night that in Lanzarote, people say “buenos noches” for “good night.” His pronunciation and the way he looked at me will haunt me for a long time, which serves me right for staring.

I’m not very tolerant of other Brits. Especially ones who wear three-quarter-length white cargo pants. If male, they go topless, and if female, they buy theirs a size too small so others can see their plump camels’ hooves.

Not a good look on anyone

I’m vain. I would like to be able to tan, and I would like a firmer arse. Just so I could have a photograph of me, a la Angela Lidvall, looking good in hot-pants, just once. All that stuff I’ve said about liking my pale skin and curves? I lied.

Just for one day, I’d like to know what it feels like to have legs like Angela’s.

I like food and I’m greedy. I always want food to be the best it can be, even if it’s a piece of toast with Marmite. I will never again eat asparagus with melted gorgonzola and I certainly don’t ever want to be exposed to sweet cheese tempura. I won’t ever hold back on the cake, and for that reason I will never wear hot-pants a la Angela Lindvall.

I think that if I had the time to read a book a day, I would never be unhappy again.

I have no problem with other people making my bed, doing my laundry, and cleaning the bathroom.

I am very much like my mother, and all of the things I’m trying to drum out of our daughter are things that I have taught her. Especially the swearing. I’m quite a hypocrite.

Family is everything to me. They define me. I miss you all when you’re not with me, but I’m also sad for how we could be, and how we are very often not. The break away gave me time to think about the things that are not working.

I’m indecisive. I want others to make up my mind for me, like you. I’d like you to tell me what the right thing to do would be. I’m so very nearly 35 and I want us to be happy. But I know that making up my mind is what I need to learn to do in order to be happy.

I worry that I worry too much about me. I’m actually quite self-obsessed. It would be nice to worry about more important things for once.

Now it’s your turn. Who are you?

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3 Responses to “Me, myself and I”

  1. Lucy Garbutt September 25, 2012 at 3:19 pm #

    Love it! Welcome back! x

  2. Ellie September 27, 2012 at 9:00 am #

    Goodness Who are you? Sounds like me – right down to the never saying no to cake and being nearly 35…

  3. dillytante October 30, 2012 at 9:01 pm #

    Weirdly similar to you. Want food to be the best it can be, self obsessed but then worried about it; indecisive, in restaurants I like to narrow my choices down to two then get the waiter to choose, boom a day etc.

    Have only just discovered your blog but I feel for you in that you seem to be going through a sort of midlife crisis, questioning your life, wishing it were different, wishing people were different, not really knowing who you are or where you are going, the exhaustion of parenting young children. (I base this on reading about 3 posts so maybe completely off the wall!) I’m going through similar stuff, not the alcoholic DH, but money, life, job, parenting etc. will continue reading with interest.

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