what it must be like on the other side. You know, the house, the partner, the car, (the kids).
It’s all very well and good being single, independent and nipping off to Wales, or London or Paris or Mexico and having complete freedom to do what you want, when you want and not having to consider anyone else. EVER. It’s great being able to say I’m the owner of a drill and an automatic screwdriver and I’m very proud that I can lift and carry and construct furniture by myself (and with my Ikea +1) and paint and move countries and look for flats, buy houses and decorate and put shelves up (but sometimes not open jars, I concede).
But you know sometimes it’s exhausting doing all that and you just want someone else to decide what’s for tea and to go to sleep in their arms.