The reasons why

She changed her mind, and couldn't be bothered to tell me. The reasons why I put up with this, would be worth a post or two.

I haven't written much about Slim because I don't really think I have any right to do so, except as she directly affects my life in ways that I would have blogged about in any case (bicycle riding, for example). We aren't actually "going out", we just go out together more often than with other people.

Does anyone remember the TV series Thirtysomething? I am Michael: my duty is to make the lives of those near me better, easier, smoother; their unhappiness is my fault and my failure. Silly, I know, but there it is.

My life rôle is Mister Helpful. You'll usually find me in the kitchen at parties, loading the dishwasher or peeling emergency potatoes for the unexpected late arrivals. It just seems obvious to me that I should do those things that need doing. This is not merely a question of my habits and preferences, because other people - complete strangers - recognise me as The Helpful One. Almost daily, people stop me in the street to ask for directions; this happens everywhere in the world, even in places where I too am a tourist. Another example: chatting in the Staatsgalerie with a friend who works there, when a guided-tour group arrived to be kitted out with radio headphones; their guide asked me (not my friend) to help set them up, which I did.

Clearly I radiate some kind of "it'll be all right, I know what to do" vibe. (The fact that I do always know what to do, is something I cannot explain.)

This urge to help is by no means all negative: it's what made me a good trainer, and what makes me good with small children (and customer support phone calls). It becomes a hindrance when I start judging possible relationships by how useful I could be. I am in danger of doing that with Slim.

This came to a head a month ago, when she phoned up at 8:30 on a Sunday night to ask whether I could come over right now and install her new telephone system. It was late, I was tired and on the point of saying "no" when she suddenly burst out at Larry "No, damnit, put that down, I'm so sick of this, I just can't take it any more" and started crying into the phone. So I said yes instead, and called a taxi. By the time I got there, she had put Larry to bed and calmed down somewhat. While we were still standing in the doorway, she started telling me how unhappy she was, and again began to cry. I pulled her up close, wrapped my arms around her and let her cry into my shoulder. We stood there like that for maybe half an hour, and both noticed at the same time that I was gently rocking her as we stood. She said, "Oh you're rocking me, nobody has done that since I was a baby", and cried again.

You can see how this appeals to my need to be helpful?

Slim needs a lot of help, she's struggling to cope as a working single mom with a tempestuous relationship to the father of her child. (I should state here that I know him only tangentally via her, so my impression of him is probably biased and incomplete.) Slim has written him off as a waste of space, and is on the lookout for a replacement: she wants a partner to help raise Larry - and also for the good of her soul, but that seems secondary.

We get on well together: I make her laugh, she makes me dinner (joke! joke! put down that knife), we have a common interest in literature and the arts (we go to the opera together), we even look alike: tall, slim, attractive, greying dark hair, we both wear glasses. There's certainly nobody else around with whom I would rather settle down and raise a half-dozen kids and a large dog.

The question is, whether that's enough. The bigger question is, whether our needinesses complement each other and make us stronger, or whether we would cling so tightly that we would both drown. I just don't know.