Fed up

I am so fed up.

So far in my life, in terms of relationships, I’ve always gone for the fun factor. I don’t really worry about whether he has a large bank balance, political ambitions, or an overwhelming IQ; I just want someone I can try new things with, explore life with, and have FUN with.

I also seem to have, thus far, gone for people a few years older than me. Perhaps because they have cool stories to tell, past adventures to relay, and so I think “he sounds like a lot of fun; being with him is sure to be interesting and lively!”

So what happens when they get with me? They change. They start telling me how great I am that I’m not like the other women they’ve dated, or like their friends, or like them. But what they mean is, “you’re so low-maintenance and boring, which is perfect for me, because I’ve had my fun, and now I just want to be lazy.” Well, guess what? I haven’t had my fill of fun yet. That’s why I’m dating you.

Lying in bed watching tv every night is lovely, but I’m sure there’ll be plenty of time for that when I am married, with a mortgage and kids. But for now, maybe it would be nice to be taken out once in a while? You’ve surely dated plenty of women before who would never pay a penny towards any bill, yet you probably took them out all the time. But now you’ve decided to become “sensible,” and picked me as the “sensible” choice of partner. Lucky me.

I get texts like:

“I hate my old lifestyle…. I am a different man… I want to be the perfect man for you… life is soooo shallow…. I sometimes wish I’d followed a different path earlier.”

… and promises to stop spending money, and stop drinking alcohol.

Screw that!

I guess I’m just bitter. Bitter that I worked Monday – Saturday this week, meaning that Saturday night is all I have in terms of a weekend, and my boyfriend has decided he’s not going to spend any money, go anywhere, or drink anything. Because he had his fun going out with his friends on Thursday, while I was lying in bed with my alarm clock set for 6.30am. It just seems like I always seem to be missing out on the fun, short-term and long-term. It’s always done prior to me, or without me. And every now and again, I’ll be given a little taste of it… and then it’ll all stop again. And if I complain, well, I’m just immature, and I’ll understand when I’m older.

But I already understand. Perfectly. And it sucks.