So the other day a friend tells me, “ Women, they’re just obsessed with getting married. And once they hit thirty they behave like they have a ticking time bomb strapped to their backs.”
I of course deny this.
I know some chicks like that. But most of my women friends are pretty cool about being thirty. And I don’t think they’re obsessed with marriage either.
But what I don’t tell the friend is this. I think most guys turn out to be the ones who want marriage. Ya, men are closet marriage wanters.
Case in point. All the guys I went out with spoke of marriage, even before I ever did. Including a (heh heh, the cat is out of the bag!)
Even now I see some of my guy friends, and in their weak moments I can see they are dreaming of settling down. Anyway I didn’t say all this to the friend because he’s a guy. And they’re very touchy when you turn the tables on them.
In fact I remembered something. I used to have this recurring dream. That I’m getting married to my previous boyfriend, and I’m struck with terror, and I’m feeling so doomed that I just want to run away. And I’d wake up drenched in sweat and realise I’m lying next to a. And sort of sigh weakly in relief, and go back to sleep.
So, last night I have a dream. And it is just as scary. Orlando Bloom (go figure Freud) is hanging out at a friend’s place. And suddenly he turns to me and says that he wants to marry me.
I’m extremely polite in my dreams. So I don’t laugh my head off. And instead I say, “Great idea, let me just come from the loo.” I shut the living room door on my way out to the loo, and scoot. I bolt out of the house as fast as my legs can carry me, race down the stairs and am out of the building like a shot.
Think it means I’m not a big fan of Orlando Bloom.
Or rum and coke does not suit me.