The ‘C’ word . . . Commitment!

I have had lots of queries from you all about Ged so I suppose I’d better come clean.  He’s 38, 5’10, blue eyes and a reasonable head of hair except the Prince Charles bald spot at the back (but he is definitely going to look like Phil before long).  He is incredibly kind and sweet and loving and for some strange reason thinks that the sun shines out of my a**se (which, considering he works in the solar industry, is a real worry!)  He loves Phee and Tom and the horses and copes well with all their unique foibles – Phee trying to shag him, Tom regurgitating fur balls with monotonous regularity at the moment, and Tinkerbell using every wile and cunning at her disposal to break into the feed (again!)  Good thing I have one perfect Baby . . .

He has forsaken his Aussie meat pie and three dead animals a day diet and completely embraced my limited one.  He says he doesn’t miss the meat, wants to learn to cook the stuff I cook and has lost weight and is looking better for the shift. At this point my Mother will be screaming ‘quick, don’t let him get away!’ and quite possibly getting straight off a plane from The Rockies and on a Roo bound for Down Under so she can chivy things along!!

He’s completely house trained – does the washing up, washing, pegging clothes on the line etc.  He’s also a builder which is a bloody good thing at the moment and a farm boy which means that none of the realities of life on the land worry him one iota.  In fact he has 400 acres just up the road.  We met when he quoted me for the upgrade of the solar system here and during the long process of the purchase we talked regularly on the phone.

He doesn’t seem fazed by any of my foibles (burping, farting, scratching and snoring!).  Someone revive my Mummy!

He wants the 4 C’s – commitment, chaplain, children and did I mention commitment?  Now that’s one C word that I have an exceptional amount of difficulty with so I have been running around in ever increasing circles looking for a way out because it all seems too much, too soon, too unexpected.  And, of course, having been single for so long, I am used to my own company, my own space, the solitary silence that I share with the animals and nature and the peace of the solo sleeper in the double bed . . .

Am I too old and entrenched in my ways to make room for someone who looks after me so thoroughly?  Or do I just need to keep running a little longer til I realise that there’s nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, and that what’s good enough for the rest of the planet might just suit me too?

Luckily Ged (short for Gerard) is patience personifed because we all know I’m not!  In some ways we are very alike but I guess in the important things we are polar opposites.  He knows I’m a complete worry mutton, and he doesn’t (apparently I look very peaceful when I’m sleeping!)  He knows I always have a plan and normally just fits in with it .  He doesn’t drink very often (like me he had a battle with the bottle and can take it or leave it) he doesn’t smoke although he once did so snap there.  He’s also a Gemini which scares me witless and two generations back his family on both sides came from The Emerald Isle (Catholic) . . . .  smelling salts for my Daddy!

He insisted on taking me to meet his family this week which was pretty terrifying.  His father is a blue eyed farmer whose family came from Kangaroo Valley so he great tales to tell and we had mutual acquaintances to discuss.  His mother is a much harder nut to crack – wary, suspicious and assessing so I might have to get a spade and dig deep there if this goes the distance.  Mind you she reads Maeve Binchy and Dick Francis just like me so the heart beats true!  And she’s got the complete works of Banjo Patterson so I will need that spade after all . . .

Running, running scared . . . . . .

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