It's a funny thing, being single at 30-something. Once upon a time, I was one of many, now, I am one of few.
Every Monday, after clearing up the feathers, sparkly shoes, glitter, tutus, fancy dress, wine bottles, board games and clearing away the CDs and Wii Dance or Sing, I recount my weekend on Facebook. The responses vary, but in the main, they are shock, various people shaking their heads or tittering at my 'unusual' and 'outrageous' lifestyle.
But why? I haven't changed - everyone else has! All of my friends used to miss a night's sleep, spend the early hours kneeling over the toilet and fight over fancy dress and comedy make-up. they used to sing their hearts out at 4am as the neighbours banged on the door, wake up to find a number on their bedside tables and try to put a face to it and spend more on wine and shoes than they did on comfy knickers. Are you seriously telling me that clearing up baby sick, arguing with your partner over the TV channel and meeting your friends for lunch with their snotty kids is more fun? More satisfying?
I just don't get it. Don't look down your nose at me because i'm actually waiting for Mr.Right instead of marrying Mr.Wrong and trying to change him into Mr.Right. Don't turn up at my from door and roll your eyes at my corset strewn on the lounge floor with my latest 4" heals on the fireplace as you stand there with dried snot and sick on your tshirt.
There's nothing wrong with my life - I'm having the best time, have the most incredible friends and i'm happy - really happy.
Be careful how you judge me, because I know, as well as you do, that when I recount my weekend and you think about yours, that I am living my life to the full and i'm in no rush to launch myself into 2.4 children because i'm 'supposed' to.
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