So.
Let me clarify the Mike situation. At first it seemed as if we were going to have another date. Then it didn’t. Then it did. Then it didn’t. Then – hang on – which day of the week are we now? There may very well be some more did and didn’ts in there. We appear to have some kind of weird hiccup going on in the emails/texts between us and frankly I haven’t got a clue what is going on. Therefore, let us just put that to the side at the moment. One way or another it will be resolved, and you shall be the first to know. Honest! And possibly in a gigantic philosophical post, so get the coffee, biscuits and tissues ready…
But in the meantime, I have had an epiphany and I don’t know why it has taken me so long to work this out: I must be (almost) irredeemably thick. I’ve always thought that the cougar chasers’ line of ‘Age is just a number’ was a six foot high heap of horse manure, whether as a chat up line or a long term proposition. After all, who wants to be forced into giving her partner history lessons on who David Cassidy was?
But take away some of what makes us human - reason, intelligence, society – and reduce two people to two animals, seeking one another's warmth, or huddled together against the barren, piercing cold of winter, and age does indeed become just a number.
This has nothing to do with Mike, by the way; he’s older than I am. And yet it does.
That’s all I have to say on the subject. For now. I think.
