Super Associated

Breadcrumbing

"You can walk away anytime, Romilly," Francis' exasperated tone spoke. Sighing heavily, I watched through the window as he bowed his head and his shoulders slumped forward, weariness taking over his body. Moving to sit in a chair, he closed his eyes and shook his head. "I don't want to make you stay if you don't want to be here."

I wince. "We're not talking about the radio show anymore, are we?"

In a nutshell, this is currently mine and Francis' issue. He wants to move onto a more serious, defined relationship whereas I'm more than happy to just, you know, not do that. For a few months now, Francis has been trying to approach the sensitive topic without pushing me away but at the same time, he tells me that he cannot be with me if my heart isn't truly in it. Just when he thinks I'm done and I'm walking away, I'll send him a flirty text, make him think that I'm interested and he comes running back to me. The truth is, I'm not walking away. You can't walk away from nothing. Secondly, I do not send flirty text messages. I'm about as flirty as a platypus. Breadcrumbing, he calls it. I breadcrumb him, apparently. 

"Ok, people," Chelsea's overly friendly voice chimes. "That was the latest song from one of the East End's up and coming stars, Verity Cash. I'm sure you're all as excited as I am to hear more from her, just as we're all excited to hear more from tonight's guest, Romilly Taylor. Romy, we've had some calls from listeners and I just wanted to ask, do you think that the comments people have made about your love life are fair?"

Narrowing my eyes, I thank be that there's a table and some very expensive equipment between Chelsea and me right now. "Do you think it would be fair if strangers were telling you how to live your life?"

"But your brother is hardly a stranger, is he," Chelsea counters. "Our producer noted earlier that you're being incredibly defensive tonight, Romy. Why is that?"

"Are you dense?" I ask, genuinely worried that Chelsea was an idiot. I've never been one to believe that pretty girls can't be intelligent but Jesus Christ, Chelsea might just turn my thinking on its head with this one "Look, I don't mean to be rude, but you've railroaded me with all this and you expect me to sit here and be ok with you attacking me on a very personal level? No, sorry, pal but that is not happening. Why don't we cut straight to the chase here and you tell me what it is you want me to say, huh?"

Chelsea shrugs her shoulder casually. "I just want to get to know why you're so scared to admit that you're in a relationship, that you're in love, that you're happy."

I begin to wonder how many times in one night I'll be forced to repeat myself. The word 'relationship' is being thrown around far too casually and now Chelsea's gone and throw the word 'love' into the mix, as if that was going to make me want to open up. As for 'happy', why can't people understand that I am happy? 

"Question for you," I say, challenging not only Chelsea but also her listeners to come up with something that'll dispute what I'm about to say. "You're all very concerned about me ending up as some lonely old woman, surrounded by hundreds of cats that'll surely eat me after I've died all alone but let me ask you this: what is wrong with me ending up alone? Moreover, why is the notion of a woman not ending up with someone so horrific? Even the word spinster had negative connotations."

That was it, I was on a roll now. Berate me for my lifestyle choices, expect to have your own and other peoples' choices questioned as well. "When a woman is single beyond the usual age of marriage, she's a spinster. When a man, on the other hand, is not and never has been married, he's a bachelor. But when you hear those two words you picture it differently. Spinster equals old woman with cats. Bachelor equals George fricking Clooney. Silver Fox. A cad. Why is it, in this day and age, a successful woman can't make the choice to be single? If there isn't pressure on men to settle down, why is it acceptable that there's pressure being forced on a woman's shoulder?

"Double standards is insulting," I continue, not caring if I've lost Chelsea on the way. The vacant stare she gives me should be unnerving but I've still got more to say and if I've got some airtime, I'm damned well going to use it to get my message across. "I'm not scared to be in a relationship, to be in love, to be happy. I'm in a relationship with myself and I have to say, it's the most committed relationship I've ever had. I love myself because I am a strong, independent woman. And yes, I am happy. I have a very fulfilling life and a man won't change any of that. A man should compliment me but he should never complete me."

Finally finishing my rant, I sit back in my chair, mentally prepared for Chelsea to tell me I'm wrong. She doesn't, however. Taking a call, she lets some prick from Preston tell me I'm wrong. He's of the opinion that I do need a man to complete me. I asked him if he was single. He thought I was propositioning him and that I really wasn't his type. He wasn't mine, either, I announced to the fanbase of Loose Lipped. "I can't think of anything worse than being with a misogynist like you," I told him. 

The next caller was slightly more palatable. "Um, hi," a meek voice crackled over the airwaves. "My name is Amanda and I just have to say, what Romilly just said resonated with me. May I share my story with you?"