Living alone III

If you are on your own, some time or another you have face… parties. You’ll have people telling you to get out more and when you say you’ve been invited but you’re thinking you won’t go – well, on the list of sins committed by single people this ranks somewhat below eating fish out of the tin for lunch – so we’re talking pretty low indeed.

Nothing springs to mind in which I have less interest than parties. If I do go to a party I want it to be comfortable. I want to go with the same person I always go with. I want to know when the argument is going to start about whether it’s time to go home, how it is going to develop and I want to have a few choice lines ready. Oh, and the taxi fare because I always lose that one, no matter how good my lines are.

What I do not want, when I go to a party, is to have to worry about whether people are hitting on me – or whether they aren’t – and it seems to me that this is pretty much how single people approach parties. I’ve scarcely ever been one before – a single person, I mean – but I know how their minds work. What they always want to know afterwards is ‘do you think so and so…..’

This time I’ve got things sorted. It’s a 40th birthday for the husband of a friend of mine. It’s in a pub on a Friday night. And I’m taking my knitting. Yes, that’s quite correct, I’m taking my knitting to a pub birthday bash. And I’ve organised myself a date who is also bringing her knitting. One drink because people don’t think you can possibly be having fun if you aren’t drinking, finish my sock, back home tucked into bed by 10pm.

A figure of speech, ‘tucked into bed’….when you live on your own, nobody tucks you in. How sad and lonely can things get?


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