Tonight you're mine completely
You give your love so sweetly
Tonight the light of love is in your eyes
Will you love me tomorrow?
Is this a lasting treasure?
Or just a moment's pleasure?
Can I believe the magic of your sighs?
Will you still love me tomorrow?
Tonight with words unspoken
And you say that I'm the only one, the only one,
But will my heart be broken
When the night meets the morning star?
I'd like to know that your love Is love I can be sure of
So tell me now, cause I won't ask again
Will you still love me tomorrow?
So, where do I start? Well, I think it's safe to say that the last couple of months haven't been the finest of my (so far) short lived life. In the past few weeks I have been back and forth between Oxfordshire, Southampton, London, and finally (and most recently) hospital.
It's amazing how much has changed in three months. Three months ago I thought I was really healthy. Three months ago, I'd met a lovely man who was starting to restore my faith in men. Now, here I am. Sigh.
Three weeks into starting a new life in Southampton, and I very unexpectedly find out I need life saving surgery, and the man who I thought was lovely, and most importantly different to those before him, has actually turned out to be an A class, top notch, royal arsehole of the highest pedigree, and subsequently just like the men before him - only after one thing.
Before he came along, I had made a vow to myself to never go near another man. I had slowly come to the conclusion that it would simply be easier to just be single. Then, he appeared in my life, assuring me he wanted to really be with me. I stupidly believed him. I really shouldn't have done. The guy was a first class player, who used every trick in the book.
The manners that had once attracted me to him (yes, manners are hot), slowly diminished after he had gotten what he had wanted from me. The charm that had once attracted me to him, could now be seen clearly in the harsh morning light, as arrogance.
Strip a man out of their clothes, and you really can see them for what they are. Flaws are visible for all to see.
Lying next to me was perhaps physically the most handsome man I'd ever met, yet in that moment he was the most unattractive man I could have been lying next to.
As he drifted off to sleep, started to snore (not endearing), and stole the blanket off of me, I looked at him, looked around the room, got up and looked at myself in his mirror. I knew I was compromising myself being with him (something I promised I would never do again after Ex Boy). I lay next to him all night, knowing exactly how the next morning would play out, as I'd become so used to it with the Ex Boy.
Morning came, we both dressed, he went off to work, and I walked to the train station. I've hardly heard from him since.
I'm just glad he never got to really know me. After all the rubbish I'd been through with Ex Boy, there was no way I was letting my defences down for him, no matter how many times he told me he was different. So, I let him see the smallest fraction of who I was and boy, am I glad. If you don't let someone know who you really are, then you can't take it so personally when they hurt you; I can safely say he saw nothing of who I was.
I don't know what he saw when he looked at me.
I don't know what men see when they look at me.
The person I really am is incredibly different to the one men see.
Real me watches Nigella Lawson cookery programmes.
Real me would rather be in a pub than a club.
Tonight the light of love is in your eyes
Will you love me tomorrow?
Is this a lasting treasure?
Or just a moment's pleasure?
Can I believe the magic of your sighs?
Will you still love me tomorrow?
Tonight with words unspoken
And you say that I'm the only one, the only one,
But will my heart be broken
When the night meets the morning star?
I'd like to know that your love Is love I can be sure of
So tell me now, cause I won't ask again
Will you still love me tomorrow?
So, where do I start? Well, I think it's safe to say that the last couple of months haven't been the finest of my (so far) short lived life. In the past few weeks I have been back and forth between Oxfordshire, Southampton, London, and finally (and most recently) hospital.
It's amazing how much has changed in three months. Three months ago I thought I was really healthy. Three months ago, I'd met a lovely man who was starting to restore my faith in men. Now, here I am. Sigh.
Three weeks into starting a new life in Southampton, and I very unexpectedly find out I need life saving surgery, and the man who I thought was lovely, and most importantly different to those before him, has actually turned out to be an A class, top notch, royal arsehole of the highest pedigree, and subsequently just like the men before him - only after one thing.
Before he came along, I had made a vow to myself to never go near another man. I had slowly come to the conclusion that it would simply be easier to just be single. Then, he appeared in my life, assuring me he wanted to really be with me. I stupidly believed him. I really shouldn't have done. The guy was a first class player, who used every trick in the book.
The manners that had once attracted me to him (yes, manners are hot), slowly diminished after he had gotten what he had wanted from me. The charm that had once attracted me to him, could now be seen clearly in the harsh morning light, as arrogance.
Strip a man out of their clothes, and you really can see them for what they are. Flaws are visible for all to see.
Lying next to me was perhaps physically the most handsome man I'd ever met, yet in that moment he was the most unattractive man I could have been lying next to.
As he drifted off to sleep, started to snore (not endearing), and stole the blanket off of me, I looked at him, looked around the room, got up and looked at myself in his mirror. I knew I was compromising myself being with him (something I promised I would never do again after Ex Boy). I lay next to him all night, knowing exactly how the next morning would play out, as I'd become so used to it with the Ex Boy.
Morning came, we both dressed, he went off to work, and I walked to the train station. I've hardly heard from him since.
I'm just glad he never got to really know me. After all the rubbish I'd been through with Ex Boy, there was no way I was letting my defences down for him, no matter how many times he told me he was different. So, I let him see the smallest fraction of who I was and boy, am I glad. If you don't let someone know who you really are, then you can't take it so personally when they hurt you; I can safely say he saw nothing of who I was.
I don't know what he saw when he looked at me.
I don't know what men see when they look at me.
The person I really am is incredibly different to the one men see.
Real me watches Nigella Lawson cookery programmes.
Real me would rather be in a pub than a club.
Real me would prefer to stay in that be out.
Real me lists Chopin as her favourite music.
Real me lists Chopin as her favourite music.
Real me prefers being in the Country than the City.
This is not what men see when they look at me.
Visual creatures; men see blonde hair. Men see bra size. Men see sex.
So, here I am again, taking a vow never to go near another man. I wonder how long it will take though, for another handsome ex public school boy with too much money, and a distinct lack of manners and intelligence to ask me out.
My friends have recently put it to me that maybe I should consider changing my 'type', as they fear my 'type' is leading me every increasingly into the territory of the "alpha male arsehole".
I fear I may not be in a position to disagree with them.
I was 17 when I got involved with Mr. P-S, who was nearly thirty years older than me. Getting involved with a man so much older than you, will of course welcome all the familiar comments of "You're looking for a 'father figure'", or, "He's old enough to be your father".
At the time the very implication of these comments was abhorrent to me. But now, now I've had time to be objective about what made me want to be with a man so much older than myself, I see clearly just why I did, and why I probably still would.
I'm far more used to being in the company of people older than myself, and most of the time find it easier being so. Older men really can't be bothered to play games with you; and they're far more generous with their time.
This is not what men see when they look at me.
Visual creatures; men see blonde hair. Men see bra size. Men see sex.
So, here I am again, taking a vow never to go near another man. I wonder how long it will take though, for another handsome ex public school boy with too much money, and a distinct lack of manners and intelligence to ask me out.
My friends have recently put it to me that maybe I should consider changing my 'type', as they fear my 'type' is leading me every increasingly into the territory of the "alpha male arsehole".
I fear I may not be in a position to disagree with them.
I was 17 when I got involved with Mr. P-S, who was nearly thirty years older than me. Getting involved with a man so much older than you, will of course welcome all the familiar comments of "You're looking for a 'father figure'", or, "He's old enough to be your father".
At the time the very implication of these comments was abhorrent to me. But now, now I've had time to be objective about what made me want to be with a man so much older than myself, I see clearly just why I did, and why I probably still would.
I'm far more used to being in the company of people older than myself, and most of the time find it easier being so. Older men really can't be bothered to play games with you; and they're far more generous with their time.
The thing is it's quite sad, as Mr.P-S was most definitely the start of a 'type' for me, but he was also one of a kind. I mean all these other boys I've come up against since have been mere imitations of him. The man was/is a legend. You see, the thing is, yes he was/is an absolute bastard of the highest degree (and my, do I feel sorry for the woman who was married to him) but my God was he charming. He had the best manners of any man I've ever met.
Here's some things I do not find tres charming in men:
1. Them not offering to pay for any of your cab fare when you have spent nearly £90 to get there and back. This is especially annoying when you have offered to pay for theirs upon them visiting you.
2. Texting more than calling. This speaks volumes (excuse the pun).
3. Not making any effort on their appearance before they meet you (this loses importance when you enter a relationship with them - after all the sexiest thing ever is a sleepy, slightly rough around the edges hungover man) If I make an effort to meet a man, I expect him to do the same. Plus, I find it incredibly endearing when effort is made to impress.
4. The usual lack of manners: until you know me properly, I find it a basic sign of bad manners for a man to swear in front of me. OK, let's not be silly here, I am aware that I can swear with the best of them, but upon meeting a man for the first time, this is not something he should assume, and should therefore be polite, and refrain from using anything four letter words. Well at least until I have done so.
5. Having lots of money / expensive car, yet they have either a. A messy house. b. No sheets on the bed. c. No food in the fridge. d. Buy Tesco Value products.
If you have encountered number 5. then I'm sure you will agree that this demonstrates a lack of being able to prioritise. How can a man make so much money and not have the time to buy toothpaste? Did your Mothers' never teach you how to make your beds boys?
So there are just a few of my most recent gripes with men. Don't get me wrong, with the right man, all of the above means jack, (and trust me, I've put up with far worse) but as I've gotten older, and the more experience I have accumulated, I've come to learn that if you are encountering two or more of those points with a man, you are usually best off getting out, before you get in too deep.
Here's some things I do not find tres charming in men:
1. Them not offering to pay for any of your cab fare when you have spent nearly £90 to get there and back. This is especially annoying when you have offered to pay for theirs upon them visiting you.
2. Texting more than calling. This speaks volumes (excuse the pun).
3. Not making any effort on their appearance before they meet you (this loses importance when you enter a relationship with them - after all the sexiest thing ever is a sleepy, slightly rough around the edges hungover man) If I make an effort to meet a man, I expect him to do the same. Plus, I find it incredibly endearing when effort is made to impress.
4. The usual lack of manners: until you know me properly, I find it a basic sign of bad manners for a man to swear in front of me. OK, let's not be silly here, I am aware that I can swear with the best of them, but upon meeting a man for the first time, this is not something he should assume, and should therefore be polite, and refrain from using anything four letter words. Well at least until I have done so.
5. Having lots of money / expensive car, yet they have either a. A messy house. b. No sheets on the bed. c. No food in the fridge. d. Buy Tesco Value products.
If you have encountered number 5. then I'm sure you will agree that this demonstrates a lack of being able to prioritise. How can a man make so much money and not have the time to buy toothpaste? Did your Mothers' never teach you how to make your beds boys?
So there are just a few of my most recent gripes with men. Don't get me wrong, with the right man, all of the above means jack, (and trust me, I've put up with far worse) but as I've gotten older, and the more experience I have accumulated, I've come to learn that if you are encountering two or more of those points with a man, you are usually best off getting out, before you get in too deep.
2 comments:
Is your 'problem' - I put that in inverted commas as I think this is so common to us women, and the word problem sounds as though it isn't normal - is your 'problem' low self esteem? You are so much more than blond hair and a body. You need to find a man who will value you as a person. Don't accept anything less. By going out with men who are somehow more confident than you - older, richer, whatever - you are only reinforcing your feelings about the way men treat you. They're not all bastards. Find someone who wants to talk and do stuff outside the bedroom as well. Love can grow from friendship. And you're so right, that last guy didn't know you at all. If he had got to know you, he'd be kicking himself now for ever letting you go. I know very little about you, but I can tell that much. It stands out a mile to anyone who keeps their brain between their ears, not between their legs.
Hmm I fear you make alot of sense. Definitely going to try and re programme my brain into what it currently finds attractive!
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