What a bizarre evening.
I came home from work, and got changed. While I was getting changed, nobody came in and hassled me about the colour of my knickers or asked me why I wear a bra or why my tummy jiggles.
I looked in the cupboard, and decided that a tin of cream of chicken and mushroom soup sounded very nice for dinner, and that I would go up to the shop and get something disgusting for dessert, and a magazine to read after tea. I didn't argue with anyone, nor did I have to negotiate the flavour of soup, figure out whether I'd have to buy two packets of something disgusting for dessert, or put three pairs of socks (if I could find them) on three pairs of feet and drag them up to the shop.
When I walked up to the shop, I didn't have to hold someone's hand while she balance on the brick wall, or call to racing children to come back before they got run over. I didn't have to listen to three different conversations at one time and make sense of them all.
I went around the supermarket and picked what I wanted off the shelves. I didn't have to say "no". Not even once. Well, only to myself. But not at the chocolate shelf. And when I picked up the block of chocolate, I didn't have to promise to share it with anyone.
When I got home, I cooked the soup, and served it up, and nobody told me that someone else had more than them, or that they didn't like those bread rolls, or ask if they could have it in a pink bowl and tell me NO I WANT THE PINK SPOON TOO!
I sat down and ate my dinner without interruption, and then I watched the show I want, and then I cleaned up and pulled a blanket over myself and now I am sitting here making a blog entry, and I am not having to promise to read a story in a minute and please will you brush your teeth.
One night. One night of the life I never really lived - coming home from work, on my own, doing my own thing. Quiet. On my own. I haven't spoken a word for two hours.