Top 10 Reasons why Sash is Rubbish at Relationships

Status: I love my life (absolutely), I love my man (madly) and I love my relationship (usually...um, marginally?...more than my singleserves lifestyle).

Sighs. Is it just me? Don't get me wrong. The guy is great, truly great, but this girlfriend-boyfriend thing is H-A-R-D!

I mean, I'm a reasonably good trophy. I have nice shoes and a pedicure every month. I get along socially with basically anyone who isn't a bigot about their earning power or an embittered expat housewife (or rather, they don't get along with me). And it has been said, that I can come across as rather witty and clever when I don't confuse my ozone with my CFCs.

So what's wrong? Why can't I make a graceful exit from the meat-market in a poof of romantic bliss? Why am I still writing?

Because sometimes, I just get this nagging feeling at the back of my head, a bit like a hangover, that I'm not quite the cat's pyjamas as a girlfriend. I really am trying my best, but there are a few things about me that are so fundamentally Sash, and that I can't (and won't) change, I'm not sure they quite fit in any relationship, let alone this one.

And really, the boyfriend, also occasionally known as 'the boyfwen' bless his heart, is so patient and accommodating about all my quirks (especially if they're the pouty-lipped, D-cup variety) it's as if he actually loves me!

Ha. Which makes it all so much worse, really.

It's not like me to be plagued with self-doubt but there are days when all I can do is think that I'm just wasting his time and one day the scales will fall from his eyes and my inner monster will be revealed in all its grubby glory. I can tell you right now I'd be gutted if that happened. Absolutely gutted.

You may or may not agree, but in no particular order, here are my top 10 reasons why maybe I'm just not cut out for this relationship thing. And yes, you have permission to laugh.

1. I am a monogamist's nightmare. I look at, and openly lust, after other women. And men. Black men. The ones with pecs the size of canned ham, metal-detector abs and thick, long um, johns. Preferably 2 of them at a time... But mainly, I try to keep it to women. Ahem...

2. If he gets jealous about my lust habit (see #1), my usual response is: "Don't be. I'd never do it behind your back. Don't you know that if I fucked someone else, you'd be the first person to know? Especially if the sex was really REALLY good? Maybe we can invite him over! Or give the guy a t-shirt that says 'I made Sash squirt' or something..."

3. If I get jealous...? Hmm, actually I don't get jealous. Why get jealous when you can get even? And his best friend told me once that he's hung like a coat hanger. So I'll just have to find out...

4. I prefer to ask for forgiveness rather than permission. In fact, the last time I asked for permission was maybe in Secondary 4 when I asked my parents if I could stay over at my then-boyfriend's house, to which they said no. I then went and did so anyway (but I swear we didn't have sex Mom!). On the plus side, I'm very good at feeling sorry and I bake a mean humble pie, with real chocolate chips and vanilla. Hungry, anyone?

5. I have a sordid past. And I can still bump into most of it at Attica on a Saturday night. (Note: this is after leaving Singapore for 2 years.) And no, that guy did not have that double chin / spare tire / withered look / cold sore on his lip when I was fucking him...

6. I don't listen very well. Nor can I read maps or follow instructions. Unless I'm being slapped around in a schoolgirl uniform, that is...

7. I admit, I'm a bit of an adoration junkie. (Everybody is, aren't they?) And I rather miss my bevy of besotted admirers who used to strew shoes, watches, jewelry, skincare and the odd laptop as tokens of affection at my feet. In fact, I still have their numbers, and we keep in touch from time to time. And if they insist on plying me with gifts in a transparent and shameless bid to buy their way into my heart, what can I do but accept? I'm just being polite...

8. I need a lot of sex. And I need it now. And no, we can't stop until after I've had 10 orgasms. If you have a headache, then go take a Viagra. I guarantee it'll make the headache worse, but you'll have wood and I can give you hand jobs for the rest of the night...

9. I'm sexually up for anything and I'll try anything once. Which is fine when I'm luring beautiful women home for some fun. But not so fine when I also suggest we try our hand at bukkake, bisexual boys, strap-ons, knives, rape fantasy, the odd enema and of course my lifelong altar fetish (don't ask, I can't explain it except to say that I have a seriously twisted imagination). You never know, it could be really fun...

10. I don't suddenly want babies. Or an HDB flat. I don't cook dinner every night. I don't call everyday (he calls, usually) even though I have been known to send a squealy text once ever so often. And I'm still awfully footloose and fancyfree. In fact, currently I'm thinking wouldn't it be a fantastic adventure to transfer to New York for a few months...

So there, the prosecution rests. Is there any hope for me at all?