That’s right people, crack out the party poppers and punch bowls, because this little blogger just got herself a boyfriend.
I’m too excited to care about the details, but approximately two months ago I began speaking to a wonderful chap who went by the name of Bambi. Regulars at The Hell Butterfly should remember him. He was the one that challenged my writing skills, made me think harder about what I wrote and form opinions on things I’d never thought about before. He was the one that made me feel comfortable talking about so many things that I felt I couldn’t talk about with anyone else. He was the one that I may have actually passed unknowingly at London Film and Comic Con this year, the both of us having attended the Saturday convention.
He is the one who introduced me to The Voodoo Lounge bar and took me to see my first firework show in several years. He is the one I cuddled as we laughed at the small children and admired the rare red moon over The Hoe. He is the one I introduced to my Dad the evening that Plymouth won their game against Exeter. He was the one I had my first kiss with.
He is the one I just closed my Plenty of Fish account because of.
He is also the one who just helped me move into my new house. He is the one who just spent all weekend with me, rather than meeting his own friends. He is the one who just made the approval of my mum and younger sister. He is the one who stayed at my new house two nights in a row, and made me a cup of tea in the morning. He is the one who cooked us the best pasta bake I’ve ever tasted.
Bambi is the one I just became official with.
Bambi is my boyfriend. I am Bambi’s girlfriend.
It feels surreal saying it, but hell I’m going to keep saying it because it feels damn good to be able to do so without it being a lie. I am in a relationship. It took me a few years longer than some of my friends, longer than some of my family, but while I may already be 21, the reward of waiting for the right person to come along has paid off. Could I have seen myself allowing R, or T, or J, or M24 to sleep in the same bed as myself all weekend? Could I have seen myself waking up to see R, or T, or J, or M24 laying next to me as I woke up? Could I have seen myself being cooked for by R, or T, or J, or M24? Honestly, not really. I’m sitting here as I type this picturing those scenarios, and none of them fit right. Some feel awkward, some too fake, too stereotypical. Then I picture the weekend I just had with Bambi.
That fits. Bambi fits.
Now, I don’t want this to seem like I’m suddenly head over heels, and I’m going to try and control myself so as I don’t cause any problems by getting ahead of myself, but the fact I haven’t stopped smiling since my Facebook status first read “Bambi is now in a relationship with Megan” is proof enough that this is something I want. And more importantly, that it’s something I want to do right. No rushing, no assumptions, just honesty, trust and patience.
It’s going to take hard work, but aren’t the best things in life worth working hard for?