Right, that's it. She is me... the other woman. The woman wives and girlfriends hate and spit on, the woman I've bitched about countless times over a G&T in my local with my girls on a Friday night. If they knew I was her, they would publicly lynch me, no lie. And yet, I am enjoying the frisson of thrill and excitement that comes with doing something so scandalously wrong... and to top it all off, I'm surprised at the lack of guilt in my life. Surely I should be having sleepless nights, tossing and turning next to my boyfriend (yes, I have one, does that mean the blame will be halved? Didn't think so), being unable to meet his eyes? Instead, I'm merrily carrying on my way, like there's nothing going on. So I am a manipulative, cheating, scheming bitch... or am I?
Can the fact that my boyfriend hasn't slept with me in god knows how long act as an excuse? Surely that's cruelty, and if we were married, grounds for divorce? There has been no sex in suburbia... so now I've gone looking... and I've found.
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I like
- kissing
- a medium/rare bloody steak,
- a fab Australian Shiraz , vintage 2001 in the winter
- Pimms& Lemonade in the summer,
- kissing,
- cycling
- kissing,
- dancing at festivals with my friends,
- kissing,
- Sunday mornings with the newspapers, coffee and ciggies in bed
- Sweden
- GIN (Bombay, none of that Gordon’s crap for me)
- MUSIC (because without it, life wouldn’t be worth living)
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About Me
- The Other Woman
- London, United Kingdom
- She may be the person you sit next to on the tube, the girl who hands you money every Tuesday for her copy of Heat, the boss who gives you a hard time on a Monday morning... she is me.
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