I don’t think that I am a very good girlfriend.
He is on holiday and when I came back from work tonight the house was cleaned; the shopping done; the clothes washed. You could walk across the lounge unimpeded.
He joked that we could live off my earnings, as my salary has doubled in the last year, and I could come back to this every night. I was asked to apply for a job recently which is double my
current salary, and though I wouldn’t want to apply for it yet, I wondered what it would be like to earn that much and be
profligate. Not worry. Not wait for the next payday.
I wonder if he did want me to apply for that.
But I also wonder what I give him; sure I have amazing friends, and we go to interesting places together. He likes my friends, the Russian who calls him nicknames, the Spaniard who teaches us about wine, the people who are so affectionate and tell him tales of my past. I’m pretty, and slim, and dress well. He says he never knows what I will say next and likes this. I think he likes the Euro-crat background too although, being a socialist, he would never admit to that.
But I can be lazy. I collapse on the sofa when I get home, I’m disorganised around the house. When I hear men talk about the need for a female touch, I cringe and berate myself.
I miss people too much, and am nostalgic. He’s not. I remind him what we did a year ago and he looks surprised. I remember more details about his friends than he does.
I like time to myself. And sometimes I’m sulky, and elusive, when there’s no need to be. I read a John le Carré line that said a woman lies to protect herself; perhaps I’ve taken that too much to heart, although my version would be a woman is evasive to protect herself.
And at the moment I think about other men too much. Well, one other man. It’s worked out well that way in the past, when I’ve thought someone was attractive, as it’s made me rip his clothes off in a frenzy of lust (the S.O. that is). Inspiration, if you like. But I’m too tired at the moment.