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Debbie Leigh: Happy to be her indoors
LYING on the bed, snuggled up to my cat and reading a fantastic book while my husband was out, I was struck by one of the great benefits of being married.
It's not that I don't wake up every morning and burst into song about the joys of married life, doesn't every woman?
But it was on this particular evening I had a moment of real clarity – some might say "smugness".
I was lounging around – on a Friday night no less – in some hideous, cobbled-together pyjama-based outfit, TV off, nose firmly wedged between the pages of a thick novel, tickling my kitty-cat on his tummy and feeling as blissfully happy as any stunning film star with millions in the bank, wearing Chanel and clutching an Oscar.
Football
But I suddenly realised it was only because I had already bagged myself a hubby (who was out with his mates watching the football) that I could feel so content with this scenario, which to an outsider – especially a singleton – could look decidedly tragic.
If I'd been single there's no way I would have been kicking off the weekend with only a cat for company.
In fact, I wouldn't have even had my two gorgeous pets, as they would have been too much of a commitment had I not already "settled down".
In my previous life I would have been out with my most glamorous BFFs, spending half my pay packet in one night, dancing on tables and going to bed disgracefully late, without taking off my make-up, or my clothes.
(OK, strictly speaking those nights aren't really consigned to my earlier existence as a singleton, they're now just a lot fewer and further between)
But if I was single, staying in on my own on a Friday night, I think I might have felt a bit of a loser – the very definition of a crazy cat lady.
Instead it seems I have morphed into Bridget Jones's worst nightmare and joined the ranks of the smug marrieds.
I'm not sure which is worse.
But as I got to thinking more about it, I realised I do sometimes make excuses to skip plans with my single friends so I spend no more than two nights a week away from our home sweet home and hubby's awesome cooking.
And occasionally, when they text me about their wild antics or to tell me how a few "quiet" drinks with a pal ended with them having to stop the taxi on the way home so they could be sick, I actually feel relieved – instead of wishing I had been there to share in the debauchery.
Clearly, being married for three years has taken its toll on my party girl instinct.
Of course, being a smug married, my weekends are often booked up with DIY these days and trust me, you don't want to be varnishing floors or painting fences with a hangover from hell.
This is not something the singleton ever worries about as home-improvement projects simply don't exist when your social diary is filled with shopping, pampering, socialising and pulling.
The only stripping that goes on in our house these days involves floorboards.
Irritating
And I admit, I probably do start too many sentences with "we" instead of "I", which I know is almost as irritating as James Corden attempting to present a chat show.
Still, I believe all is not lost.
We (there I go again, "we-ing") are thankfully not yet at the stage where we only hang around with other married couples or our idea of a great night out is a sensible dinner party where the wives don't drink and the highlight of the evening is a polite chuckle over DIY disasters.
And I have already warned my mates to hit me over the head with their fiercest pair of heels if I start quizzing them over when they plan to settle down, or promising I've found them their perfect match.
If they're good enough friends they don't mind a spot of well-placed smugness, after all, singletons have plenty to be smug about too.
Doctor Choc
WE shouldn't need an excuse to scoff a bar of chocolate but let's face it, most women do.
Still, it's not hard to find one when the urge for that scrummy stuff strikes you.
They're endless – low blood sugar, PMT, brain-fuel, bad day at work, a fall-out with hubby/friends/siblings, stress, a trip to the cinema, night in with a DVD – there's rarely a scenario that doesn't benefit from adding chocolate.
But when my day took an unexpectedly unpleasant turn the other day I found an entirely new reason – and one with a scientific basis too.
As I let out groans of agony, shoved Ibuprofen down my neck and strapped a hot water bottle to my back to numb what I think was a trapped nerve, I remembered that eating chocolate was supposed to help relieve pain.
A quick rummage in the treats cupboard produced five leftover Giant Buttons and a few pieces of dark chocolate, then it was on to the freezer for a Fab and a Nobbly Bobbly before returning to my sick bed.
As I can't be sure exactly which aspect of my self-prescribed treatment worked its magic on my back, I now plan to follow this course of action at the slightest niggle in future…. starting with the chocolate, obviously.
Ladies, you may now officially add pain control to your chocolate-defence repertoire.
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Weather for Leeds
Sunday 12 February 2012
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Sunny spells
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