I worked late last night. When I was in my twenties, working late never bothered me. It was so much more sociable, hanging out with your team eating pizza and drinking beer while finishing up concepts or writing copy. There was always music. There was occasionally dancing. Really. These days, working late seems to mean sitting alone at my desk, watching my life pass me by.
I got home hungry, and whipped up some scrambled eggs with a little bit of hot sauce. And it’s only when I sat down to watch ‘Are You The One?’ (my new MTV favourite) that I started to cry.
I have never worked late and come home to a meal someone has made me. When I was a kid, my Mum cooked for us every night. I’m part Italian, remember. I guess, to me, when someone cares about you, they feed you.
I enjoyed my scrambled eggs. The hot sauce was a nice touch.
But just once it would be nice to have someone else make me dinner.
And rub my shoulders.
And stroke my feet.
And care that I’ve had a crappy day.
Pizza of Doom 
Oh April 😦 This made me feel really sad and choke up. Hugs to you, girl. x Sometimes I’m not sure what’s worse, not having experienced something like what you described, or in my case having experienced it before and then lost it. Sigh.
😦 I’m sorry that you had a rough night. Keep searching. He’s out there. Really. One day you will look back and laugh at all of this, because you will be so happy with someone, and you’ll realize that it all happened the way it’s supposed to.