Название: It’s Not Me, It’s You!: Impossible perfectionist, 27, seeks very very very tidy woman
Автор: Jon Richardson
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Биографии и Мемуары
isbn: 9780007414956
isbn:
Not living in the present doesn’t mean not enjoying life at all – far from it! Things can be enjoyed all the more when you appreciate the sacrifice and hard work that went into their organisation, like a slow-cooked piece of meat. All the gristle and toughness that were there at the beginning have been worn away through consistent application of heat over time to leave behind something as smooth as silk. Brace yourselves for plenty more unjustifiable food similes. When you plan your life properly every day can be as exciting as Christmas Eve and you never have to suffer the come-down that is Boxing Day. Just look at Boxing Day as the eve of the eve (and so on) of Christmas Eve.
I seem to be at a time of life where my thoughts are involuntarily turning towards more permanent things, relationships that will last and where I want to be when I settle down, but I also know that I’m still at an age when I should be enjoying my freedom and taking risks and making mistakes.
Apparently ‘making mistakes’ is what your youth is for and, whilst I can’t say I agree, I will certainly concede that life was a lot simpler when I wasn’t expected at all to be thinking long term and living from day-to-day was simply how it was. I am no longer sure that I am a better balanced person with a greater understanding of myself for having spent the last ten years taking life so seriously. Perhaps I should have spent more of my time in nightclubs, having promiscuous sex with people I never intended to see again? It just never appealed to me.
The last time I went back to a girl’s house for an impromptu house party I spent most of the night straightening out rugs, putting down coasters and alphabetising DVDs while all around me people got off with whoever was closest and gradually headed off to various rooms to make more mess, no doubt. I ended up getting violently drunk, tutting at a number of strangers and walking home. I only just about made it.
Personally I alphabetise my DVD collection, but like most of the things I do I maintain that this is nothing to do with OCD, this is simply common sense. How can you expect to find the film you are looking for if you do not have a system in place on the shelf? Given that the likely piece of information you have about what you want to watch is its title, it is logical to sort them thus.
Obviously if you are the kind of person who thinks, ‘I’m not sure what I want to watch but I want it to have been directed by John Hughes’, then you may sort by director, but who does that? The alphabetised system is one that is easy to identify so there is no excuse for replacing a DVD wrongly and yet people do it simply to annoy me. If I have guests, rare though the occasion may be, after each trip to the toilet or into the kitchen I will return to a room filled with sniggering guests staring at me intently.
‘We’ve moved something!’
And the gales of laughter continue as I move around looking for the swapped DVDs or the rotated ornament, like Annie Wilkes in Misery. Perhaps the reason I don’t have guests more often is the gleeful way in which they try to make me feel uncomfortable in my own home, or perhaps they move things as a way of making themselves feel more comfortable. Such a sanitised environment cannot be easy to relax in, so perhaps they are trying to make themselves feel at home, which I suppose is valid. I myself resent being asked to remove my shoes when entering a friend’s house, even though I understand the reasoning behind it. It nevertheless sets a precedent for a visit which must leave behind no reminder. When you leave, I don’t even want to know you were ever here.
Must I really make a mess to make people feel comfortable in my house? How far do we go in making ourselves appear weak to elevate those around us? This willingness not only to expose weaknesses but to revel in them is what has led to the misguided belief that breaking wind in front of your partner is some kind of display of trust.
‘I love you so much I want you to see all sides of me, inside and out.’
I have argued with several people who believe that breaking wind is a part of life and therefore should not be hidden from someone you care about once you are over the initial dating period in which the desire to impress is paramount.
I am of the opinion that there is never a point in a relationship at which it stops being a lack of respect for someone near to you to force them to inhale the smell of your own semi-digested gut slurry. Even writing these words makes me feel uncomfortable and you can call it anal retention or weirdness if you like but if you truly can’t be bothered to leave the room to break wind then you are on a slippery slope which ends with you leaving the toilet door open and continuing a conversation with your partner while you void your bowels.
Such is my desire only to see the best parts of my partner and vice-versa that I must confess to being able to remember each time I have seen someone I was in love with fall over. I cannot help but be disappointed by such a shocking inability to perform such a simple task as staying upright. I can’t remember the last time I fell over, mostly because if it does happen it is through drunkenness which gladly takes my ability to remember anything at all away with my dexterity, but I place my feet very carefully to avoid the possibility. If we learn to walk as toddlers how can it be that, once we have mastered the basics, we accept that we don’t get any better at it? As a fully grown adult I expect at very least that I will be able to stay upright in polite society at all times.
LOOKING FOR MS VERY VERY VERY TIDY
I hope this book won’t be a predictable journey: I’m no rule-following loser all the time! I even took my dinner out of the microwave last night barely thirty seconds into the required one minute resting time. That’s right, I’m bad too, when I need to be and when I have properly assessed the potential risk. Deal with it. A few small indiscretions aside, I’m not unaware that my life isn’t following the patterns for someone my age. Even I catch myself doing things that I would be embarrassed for anyone else to find out about. In the spirit of full disclosure, here is a list.
* I find myself washing up at eleven p.m. on a Saturday night
Nothing makes me feel more like a loser than seeing myself reflected in the kitchen window wearing marigolds and scrubbing at soufflé moulds on what is widely accepted to be ‘party night’. I wouldn’t want to be out at a club, and I don’t want to wake up on Sunday morning with a load of dirty dishes staring me down while I make a cup of tea, but still I am aware of how my situation looks and cannot help but feel as though in the eyes of my peers I ought to be ashamed, which isn’t much worse than actually being ashamed.
* I smile more at dogs than their owners
I have rarely met a dog I didn’t like. Little fat dumpy ones, who look like grumpy old men as they waddle down the street; big, tall hairy ones, who look as though they are trying to convince you that they are really too cool to be tied up outside Wilkinson’s; bright-eyed, bouncy, energetic ones, who make no effort to disguise the fact that every second of their life is a revelation to them, they want to meet everyone, to smell everything and to run as fast as possible at all times. I wish I felt the same.
* I laugh at jokes the Eggheads make
I watch this teatime quiz without exception while I have my first glass of wine on days when I do not have to work. My favourite kind of people to watch on television are those who give off the impression that no matter how much they do, they will СКАЧАТЬ