January 8, 2013 § 150 Comments
From yesterday’s Times:-
I have been unsubtly hinting for a while now but, finally, am going to lay my cards on the table: I have recently had a dramatic – but entirely temporary – crash out of planktonhood.
For weeks, a surprising intimacy with the most unlikely of candidates – namely, Slightly Younger Twinkle – developed. Then, blow me down, it graduated. When I told my Wise Old Aunt, she was entirely unmoved. “It’s called propinquity, Darling. Propinquity explains why people have office romances and my friend had an affair with her builder. It is about frequency and narrative, something with which the odd date and evening out cannot compete.”
Anyway, the propinquity with SYT (like a builder, he was having to come round here quite a bit), sowed the seed of intimacy, which at first flourished without sex, then for a long time naturally gravitated towards sex (intimate conversations; confidences exchanged, emotions revealed; various signals, both verbal and non-verbal). The build up was gradual and made me think I had lost my marbles. This unexpected person is so special. How could he possibly be interested?
Turned out he was. I am not sure the brief or truncated suspension from planktonhood really counts – I remain, firmly, the Plankton, alas; no doubt about it – except that, critically, the post-divorce virginity has been thrown to the wind. I am delighted that at bloody last my ex-husband no longer has the “honour”, however dubious and undistinguished, of having been the last person who slept with me. Phew. Over that hump. But, contrary to what some might believe, that was not a motivation. The motivation was to build on the intimacy with SYT – clearly deluded – and to have a bit of fun – also, alas, in my stupid, tragic position, clearly deluded. I think but cannot be sure that the intimacy was – hello? Old chestnut, or what? – somewhat diminished rather than deepened by it because communication is now more loaded and necessarily cautious. There was Homeland-style (Brody and Carrie, second series) “fun” to be had, for sure – he is not, after all, a craggy proposition with a too-heavy belly or reliance on small blue pills to enhance any meaningful presence in the proceedings. He is great: exudes warmth, gentleness, affection and kindness but is a few years younger and so it is not going to last. Never for a second have I supposed it might.
It can’t because we are at different stages and there is too big a gulf between the two. It can’t because his erotic capital exceeds mine spectacularly, and my wisdom and experience are a whole A-Z of streets ahead of his.
And it can’t because I am an old cynic who knows it is too good to be true.