single life

I recently attended a government-related healthcare function where I was confronted with an award-winning company owner who
The 'supposed' assumed lifestyle of being gay is all, I admit, just a bit alienating to me. It always has been. I've felt in the past like I've been pushed into a group or associated with particular labels for no particular reason.
A quick social media scan tells me that the Beau is on holiday with the 'beautiful family' from whom he continues to pretend he is estranged. He'd got quite courageous in the weeks leading up to it, calling me on weekend lunchtimes to say he "happened to be in the area".
I'd spent the whole time wondering how I could have missed what a clever and genuine bloke he was. But now he was marching into my bedroom uninvited and taking his clothes off. When I walked in he was lying on my bed, naked, checking his texts.
Having been married and had a family, then been single, then been married and had a family again, I can say conclusively it's easier to be green when you're single. In fact, I'm pretty sure there must be a rule somewhere which states that your ability to be green is inversely proportional to the number of people in your household.
D Day I awoke to find a Facebook friend request from him. Now this was odd as he'd friended me many moons before and must have therefore UNfriended me at some point. As trivial and teenage angsty as that all sounds it really was the final straw. How much more could this man mess me about? ENOUGH.
Meet Andrew Thomas. Seriously, would you like to meet him? We ask because he's taking a day off next Wednesday - 29 February
Take that mainstay of the Valentine experience -- the romantic meal for two. Getting a table for two on 14 February is a bit like trying to get Madonna to keep her clothes on. It's just not happening.
The path of true lust has not been running smoothly AT ALL. Set this within the context of three weeks of boozing, a two-day birthday bender and ample forced festive bonhomie and we're looking at a recipe for social disaster.
A bottle of wine shared after a particularly trying day at work is far more relaxing than a bottle of wine binged upon while trawling deeper and deeper through the annals of Facebook, the stream of which seems to be filled exclusively with evidence that my exes are all coping with single life far better than I am.