Like Rain On Your Wedding Day

Here's something ironic for you. I've been thinking about this a lot lately:

It seems to be the burning ambition of a lot of the women I've met, especially in Essex, to get married, have a nice house and stable jobs, have some kids, and find enjoyment in things like trips to B&Q and holidays twice a year to nice safe holiday destinations with activities for the children and a buffet restaurant. And you know what? I'm not knocking that. Each to their own, blah blah.

But isn't it ironic that so many women want that and can't get it, whereas I'm on the fast track to it, at least halfway there, and I'm turning the wheel frantically to try to get the hell off this road before it's too late.

I don't want a house. I don't want a nice stable office job with good maternity benefits. I certainly don't want to join the pushchair posse. And holiday resorts make me feel claustrophobic.

I want to take the Trans-Siberian express to Mongolia and teach English. I want to watch sunrise at Mount Everest. I want to have a shag with Him on a diving boat on the Great Barrier Reef.

I want some more adventures, goddammit!

And I'm scared to the very core of my soul that I may have to choose between adventure and Him.