You're Not Alone

I haven't had a girlfriend since school, and to be quite honest I haven't really wanted one. I'm really scared of relationships and sometimes I don't see the point in them, I mean, it restricts your freedom of movement, speech and to an extent thought, and the other persons problems suddenly become your own. My parents got married when they were 21 and now they fucking hate each other, so I've always been warned. By the same token however, sleeping with random people has serious detrimental effects on my inherent feelings of self-worth, direction and personal health, so I've given up on that.

Although a lot of things are keeping me busy at the moment, I think it hit me upon a cold night in the living room sometime last week. It was as Tristan and I were watching Terminator 2 in between trying to find Canadian girls to get their tits out on Chatroulette; "Shit, maybe I do need a girlfriend!"

This particular inkling was ironically juxtaposed by a mundane trip to the launderette mid-week, as my lonely tray of Chicken Goujons under-went semi-cremation in the oven. It was a few days beyond the service wash, as I donned my jeans for the first time since their biological Daz-fuelled baptism that I found this in my pocket:



A small piece of lined paper, neatly folded up in my pocket, with a girl's phone number written on it. 'Joanna.' Ecstatic astonishment briefly ensued: "This is the one! At last! No more wanking! No more confiding in material possessions!"

It all seemed a little to good too be true, until we rang Joanna off of my friend's phone, at least. I believe Saul's exact words were, "You know when someone just sounds ugly." Oh fuck. After a few incoherent text messages I found out her full name, and for peace of mind, looked 'her' up on Facebook.

It turned out to be the 15-year old daughter of the really nice Chinese lady at the launderette. Fantastic. Not only do I have to hand wash everything the next time the machine packs up to save social awkwardness, but in a few months time a mob of frustrated skinhead Liverpudlians will arrive at my door accusing me of being a pedophile. I think I'm going to change my name, and perhaps buy a gum shield.