Sometimes, I feel like an imposter in the world of serious relationships. When we go out to dinner, I feel like the waiting staff are sneering at us for being the children we are, playing at being grown ups, accompanied by all the trappings of adulthood – a myWaitrose card here, a Labour party membership there, the inability to drink more than half a bottle of wine without some form of a hangover – and yet, it feels like we’re playing dress-up in our parents’ clothes. That’s not to say that I dislike the lifestyle we have slipped into over the years – the slow dissipation of takeaways ordered, replaced by home cooking and carefully thought out trips to Sainsbury’s; the shows we don’t watch when the other isn’t there; the feeling of telling someone about your day and finding that they’re genuinely interested in all the irrelevant things that happened; the fits of cry-laughing that make your stomach muscles ache for hours long after the joke has ceased to amuse. I love the stability and security of my relationship, I love seeing my best friend every day, and I love that our unity is an unspoken rule. I just can’t shake the feeling that we don’t quite belong in this world of taxes and ironing shirts every single day when we come home and play skateboarding games on my ancient playstation 2.
All of this said, I am very happy. In a ‘everything is going to be alright’ kind of way. And we did celebrate our six year anniversary like adults – by eating lobster, playing a game of ‘shag, marry, kill’ and then, of course, with a trip to IKEA.