So, you know I spent those two wonderful days with Jock? Our first two-day sleepover? [How to Make Her Love You in 69 Days & Maybe the Key to Great Sex Is …] Well, it was awesome and stuff, but there’s a part of it I haven’t told you about yet.
Technically, I think we had our first fight.
We were at the seaside, because you know how much this bitch loves the seaside. I was taking a photo of us, a cute one, and he ruined it by shoving his entire ice cream right into his mouth — and yeah, I got a *teensy bit* bit pissed off about it. It was petty and stupid and a proper crappy reason to have a little fight, but I stormed off a bit. Like a mini storm off. I took some photos as I huffed around by myself, sat and pondered life for a bit, and basically waited for him to come running after me. I knew he would, and he didn’t let me down. It didn’t take long, actually — and that’s all I wanted to know: that he would come running after me if I stormed off, upset.
He apologised, we went about the rest of our day, and it was all very lovely … until the next morning.
I looked at the photo again, played around with it a bit (filters and shit for the win), and turned it into something that actually looked pretty cute.
And that’s when we had our SECOND fight.
I’m not really sure what we were arguing about. He seemed to take offence to me wanting to put a cute picture up of the two of us, but in a why-do-you-care-what-other-people-think kinda way. It kinda felt like he had a lot of different reasons for arguing with me about the picture, and all I wanted to do was test the waters with him; to see if he was in it — us — for the long haul. Because I was. I am. And I wanted to prove it by showing my family and friends my new man-friend.
“Why do you even care that they know about us, though?” he asked me. And the more he asked, the more I couldn’t answer the question. I didn’t really care what they thought, in all honesty. If I did care what they thought, I wouldn’t be dating him. I’m 27 years old (and I look young for my age, or so I’m told) and I’m dating a much older, greying man who could easily be my dad. Okay, so that’s a tad bitchy, but I only wanted to know if he was going to freak out if I started telling people about my new man, and I guess now I know the answer is: yes.
The mini fight actually upset me a lot more than I thought it would. I’m proud to call him my boyfriend, that’s all. I just want to tell people about this marvellous new man I’m dating; that I’m in love with. I might not have told him that yet, but I will tell him at some point. When the time is right. You know … after he says it first.
I put the photo of us on Facebook in the end, no fucks given. He’s special to me and I don’t care what people think.
After all, I love him.
(I should probably tell him that soon.)