Friday, 1 October 2010

The Intern

as it turns out, is actually rather sweet. Last night both of us pulled a late one in the office (older readers will know that late nights spent in the office with interns have previously ended in a rather unsavory, Post-Its-in-unfortunately-places fashion) and ended up have quite a deep 'n' meaningful about marriage and commitment.

Thankfully, said intern is lacking rippling muscles/knee-weakening smile/sufficient ability to groom himself to elicit my affections. Good job too. Any more men in my life and I'd have to start timetabling them.

Anyway, over hobnobs and a sneaky Stella we sat waxing relationships until about 10pm. Intern, the poor lad, is under increasing pressure from his ladyfriend to ditch his student digs and move in with her. This may be because of three reasons :

1) She actually has a genuine interest in moving in with the boy and starting an 'adult relationship' (*sigh*)

2) It's been a year, and she feels that moving in is 'just what you do'.

3) Girlfriend no longer wants to spend her days precariously navigating plates of 5-day old lasagne and XBox controllers, and would quite like to cuddle up to him in a place that doesn't smell like someone left a cabbage behind a radiator.

This got me thinking. When I was 23 (*looks wistfully off to the left in remembrance of cheap wine and legwarmers*), I idolised those friends of mine who were in Committed Relationships. And although I had no actual evidence that one would've made me happier than I was (shagging around with various friends of friends and generally having a rather good time both above and below the waist), I was a bit brainwashed. Cosmo said I was getting on. Time to make a move. Find a man, pin him down and play house.

I eventually did when I met Hubby, though luckily I think he's the closest I've ever and will come to 'The One' (not that I think there's only 1. There are probably 15). But I fear for girls like Intern's missus. It's shit being a young woman. The messages are so confusing.

Intern told me the sex wasn't very good.

I gave him some lengthy advice, which in hindsight equated to, "Get out now. Your penis will thank me later." Life's too short to be stuck in a sexless relationship...

...Yeah yeah...what would I know?

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