Harriet pulls on my sleeve. ‘Two years I’ve been single!’
‘Twelve,’ I say.
‘No, I’ve been single for twelve years.’
She looks what can only be described as horrified. I laugh. ‘Could you get that look of your face?!’
But secretly I’m pleased. It’s a long time since anyone’s reacted to this statistic. Usually, if it comes up, you get a shrug, ‘So?’ or ‘My friend Emily has been single since university…’.
I don’t care about your friend Emily. And did you not hear me say TWELVE YEARS???!!
The number came quickly to mind. Just last week a guy I met online (Spareroom.co.uk – mixing it up) asked me straight out:
Then I did have to think about it.
‘Out of choice?’
What does that even mean? Have I chosen not to have a meaningful, fulfilling relationship with a member of the opposite sex for over a decade?! Like hell I have! But, in the interests of furthering this particular relationship, I decide not to split hairs.
‘No,’ I send back. ‘Ha.’