You've got to hand it to dear Queen Lizzie. She stood in the cold and rain for hours waving at her loyal subjects whilst thinly veiling her dismay at a rather flaccid looking flotilla. To top it off, she had to endure not one, but TWO performances from Robbie Williams. Apparently she threw her iPhone at Gary Barlow afterwards, appalled that both Adele and One Direction were missing from the line up. I would never have kept it together that long.
The extra long weekend, the soggy bunting, the cry of unused barbecues, the hellish hangover, has put me in a reflective frame of mind. We are now six months into 2012, and despite achieving a great chunk of my New Year resolutions, the arguably most important one, still remains untouched. I'm still out of love with love.
I can't quite pinpoint what it was that set me off on the course of romantic self-sabotage. Perhaps it was the newly married, and extremely flirtatious man who was drunkenly sharing tales of his sex tourism. It could have been hearing the story of the guy who turned to his lover in bed and said " The girl I like may be single soon and I really want to keep myself available, but I'm happy to keep our thaang going in the meantime". Or " I got to 30 and decided to propose because she's the prettiest of the bunch and annoyed me the least." Most likely cause, is my penchant for megalomaniacs... They tend to dress well and I love a man in a good suit.
With a defense mechanism higher than Bobby Brown, it's easy to see why one would chose to date such men. You can make a thorough assessment of the risk before getting involved, that way, the chances of getting hurt are minimal. As are the chances of being happy.
Life is like a box of chocolates, it doesn't last very long for fat people. So with that in mind, I'm making immediate changes. I'm going to live a little, take risks and even drop my PDA ban. It's taken me a long time to realize that letting a few bad experiences taint the way you view love is one of the most harmful things one could do to oneself. And surprisingly, I mean that with no hint of irony... If the Queen can tolerate Paul McCartney singing the same song at all of her shindigs 60 years in a row, then making a romantic gesture won't kill me.
Xx
