Why I will never be somebody’s other half

To much to the dismay of many of my friends, the old Mary who was once famous for being single, cynical and at times bitter is nowhere to be found.

After 100 years of singledom involving rants about loved up couples on the tube, even more rants about my girlfriend’s dropping me for their boyfriends, marathons of SATC relishing in Miranda’s cynical outlook on the other sex and a few horrific dates (one guy met me straight from the gym minus a belt and held his trousers up the whole time, seriously) I’m well and truly loved up.

Over the last  year I’ve fallen head over heels and heart whilst displaying a lot of behaviour the old me would have gagged at. (Last week I actually signed I love you to my boyfriend after getting off the train, terrible I know.)

There’s the odd day I miss the freedom of making plans that involve just me, but overall I now get what all the fuss is about. I never realised I could be so content cuddled up on a Saturday night in my onesie, eating greasy takeaway food, whilst watching Blue Planet with my boyfriend. Whilst you may be sat, reading this declaration of love and rolling your eyes I assure you this article has a very strong point. Yes I love my boyfriend and yes I can’t imagine life without him, but one thing I will never EVER be is his other half. As I wrote the earlier part of this post, I was thinking in the back of my mind how I could express my loathing for the phrase ‘my other half’. There’s just no excuse for it, not at all. As if being single isn’t tough enough (at times) must smug, self-indulgent couples make you feel like half a person?

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