My Soul Mate

My soul mate never phones me at work; but she will always answer when I phone her from work wanting to moan about how my day is going. She never tries to start a conversation when I am preoccupied with something else, no matter how trivial my preoccupation is. My soul mate’s preoccupations are never too important to put on hold. When the shopping needs doing my soul mate just does it, or I just do it; we don’t do it together.

My soul mate realises that sex is the last thing on the mind of a man who has just had sex; I realise it is uppermost in the mind of a woman who has just had it. Miraculously, we manage to make this not a problem. Proper soul mates know that beds are only for sleeping in, except when they aren’t only for sleeping in. Most beds seem to be designed for not only being slept in on Saturday or Sunday morning, for some reason.

A soul mate doesn’t have a problem with a man not being unnecessarily emotional, and would never draw attention to the inconsistency of him giving an involuntary gulp at a mawkishly over sentimental scene in a mushy movie. She is also a better actor than the ones in the movie when it comes to pretending to believe he is only watching it for her sake.

Soul mates can witness a man commit the most incompetent of driving mistakes yet still fly of into a rant about the stupidity of the other driver, while at the same time feigning obliviousness towards the real culprit’s rapidly reddening face. Soul mates instinctively know that when you put up a shelf and it falls down, it is the wall’s fault.

If I ever do come across my soul mate, I hope for her sake that my conscience will prevent me from telling her who she is.