Being single. Or: how to cut the nails on my right hand now?

I’ve recently been flirting with the possibility of regaining my independence and going back to living alone, sans mon petit copain. I have little lists of pros and cons in my head, never written down – remember when Rachel found the list Ross wrote and the damage the kankles comment made?

It’s enlightened me to the many things I take for granted about having a man or significant other around the house. The inability to open jars doesn’t bother me that much; I only open jars when once in a blue moon I am attempting to be a good girlfriend by cooking a meal (obviously if I lived alone faking this good girlfriend act would no longer be required). I’m sure those little home invention catalogues have something to cover jar opening anyway.

The things that do bother me, I have listed neatly for you below. Any responses on how those living alone get on with these things would be much appreciated. Sarcastic comments about my lack of self proficiency are entirely unnecessary.

1. Being right handed I can only manage to cut the nails on my left hand, never the right. I know I could just start getting manicures but what about nail ripping emergencies?

2. I cannot put bracelets with those fiddly little clasps on alone. Must I never wear bracelets ever again?

3. Some of my clothes are fiddly – take for example a dress covered in billions of teeny little buttons all down the back; physically impossible to get in and out of especially once inebriated by the end of the night. Must I say farewell to that dress too?

4. I don’t like to close my eyes in the shower unless there is someone else in the house. Obviously the someone else is to be known to me person and not the shady killer I imagine waiting behind the shower curtain when I close my eyes.With this, I’m pondering the following solutions: move house to somewhere with a bath or buy lots of eye drops for the anticipated shampoo-in-eyes pain.

5. I have never grown out of being scared of the dark. When sleeping alone I often imagine a man heavy breathing under the bed holding a knife to his chest, waiting for me to lull myself to sleep before he shoves said implement up through the bed slats; up, up through the mattress and deep into my heart. Too many horror films and a very active imagination, non? I came up with self medication as a possible ‘quick-fix’.

6. Smelly bins, bacon fat, old milk, etc all make me gag to the point whereby I am unable to dispose of them. This maybe resolved by being less slovenly, I s’pose.

On the other hand DIY is not an issue – I once asked for help from my partner to build my wardrobe and drawers as he had boasted he was so good at assembling flat packs. He sat with the pieces around him in my old studio apartment (please note that is one SINGULAR room to live in) completely covered in slats of wood for THREE days, before nearly having a nervous breakdown. In the end I sent him home and finished them myself. The drawers don’t work and the wardrobe needs to be propped up on both sides to stand straight but both pieces of furniture are happily stuffed with clothes therefore serving their sole purpose.

The light bulb I asked him to replace over a year ago still hasn’t been done. During that time, many more have gone out around the house and we live in semi darkness. This has perhaps facilitated the continuation of our relationship. He doesn’t see me poring over other men’s Facebook pages and I don’t see that he is wearing those god awful jogging bottoms with holes in AGAIN. *sigh*

Mademoiselle Blow

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    To be fair, there could be a man with a knife hiding beneath the bed – boyfriend or no! Sleep easy now…

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