Can Anybody Find Me....

Pieter and I are of a certain age. That age when one buys plum tomatoes ("the flavour just POPS in comparison!"), reads literature previously published in Eastern Europe ("there's such gravity to his work..I suppose 600 years of serfdom lends shades of grey to anyone's demeanor!") and the idea of finding a partner - not spouse..heaven forbid..there's a reason why it rhymes with louse - becomes ever-more-important.

Let me save you the vitriolic insistences that I'm *perfectly happy as a single, and am merely writing this on behalf of bitter spinsters whom I have never met nor choose to*. That argument is boring. And not even my Mum would believe it.

What is MUCH more interesting, is admitting that having someone around would be pleasant..but also not being willing to compromise on my..well, me.

I've just moved into a new apartment (yes, I used the word apartment, not flat. I am THAT pretentious) and one of the best things about it is that everything is where I left it. Well, that, and the fact that I get to spend endless hours running around in my panties. Don't knock it until you've tried it. Liberation has a literal connotation...

But back to my point: I'm living alone and for reasons that I understand are COMPLETELY selfish...I love the fact that I'm accountable to no one. My books are where I left them, my favourite coffee mug will only be dirty if I make it so - and, unfortunately, will remain that way until I wash it out.

Much as watching a good bit of theatre, going for a walk on the beach or making a right-royal-mess-whilst-mixing-mojitos-in-the-kitchen with someone is probably rather splendid..I'm pretty sure its a monstrous responsibility as well.

Loving someone means loving all of them. All the time. And in a way that constructively builds towards a loving future together. And that sounds like WORK. I struggle to keep me happy...can you imagine being directly responsible for someone else as well..??

Pretty sure I'm lacking a maturity gene, but I don't think its fair on either party when the thought of a clean coffee mug is a legitimised reason to stay single. Don't get me wrong..I'm a dyed-in-the-wool romantic. I have a not-so-secret obsession with romantic literature (read: Jane Austen and the Bronte sisters, not Mills and Boon) and I have been known to have the occasional fling with creating elaborate treasure hunts in honour of objects of my affection, writing poncy poems and songs and weeping into pillows for the sheer glory of how much I could love someone if given half the chance (yes, I am that girl that keeps VH1 in business)...and yet I remain unconvinced by it all.

The modern girl's dilemma, no doubt.

But luckily these tops (see above) come in both genders..sooooooooooo Piet, over to you.

What's the guy's take on this?