And itchy

I now have the ultimate proof to support my long held view that there are far too many Michaels in the world.

I am dating a Michael, and today is the one year anniversary of the “Michael-is-dating-another-guy-named-Michael” hilarity.

So how did I end up with someone who has the same frekkin’ name as me? The same name that I hear, called out in the doctors waiting room, shouted at a misbehaving kid in the street, and announced as I wait for my morning coffee- usually referring to some other guy with whom I’ll share a knowing glance... “you too?”.

What are the chances of this happening? Well, perhaps a little higher considering my preference for those of my own gender, but still fairly slim I imagine.

To make matters worse, yet thoroughly more entertaining for our friends, family, and shared hairdresser (yes we are that gay) Michael and I also have the same middle name. Surely the chances of that are slimmer again.

Thankfully we have different surnames. If not I think this is the point where you could have safely assumed that I had invented an imaginary boyfriend and given him the exact same name to reduce the chance of forgetting it and revealing my fraud. That is crazy person logic I know, but don’t worry, I’m still on the “fun” side of insanity. He is  real.

The fact that I initially thought Michael’s name was actually Matt presents another “What are the chances?” moment in this story. I’m not entirely sure how that misunderstanding happened as my tequila consumption during the proceeding period was somewhere between ‘High’ and ‘Liver Disease’. The important detail here is that if had I realised that I was about to go on a first date with another Michael it may never have actually happened, what are the chances           

Praise [insert name of deity here] that I’m such a moron. I almost missed the opportunity to meet another Michael who makes this Michael so happy to be a Michael in a pair of Michaels. Yep, sappy and confusing.

This whole thing seems so unlikely, especially the part where my idiocy actually saved the day. But the most unlikely part is the fact that Michael has put up with my non-stop-crazy for a whole year.

I’m not very good at relationships, just ask any of my ex-boyfriends, and I have always had the somewhat unromantic belief that relationships don’t have to last “for eternity” to be meaningful. I still hold that view, but the difference is that now I’m in a relationship that I want to last- and for me that is wonderful and terrifying, and exhilarating, and tiring, and confusing, and astonishing. And itchy.

For the record Michael and I have not come up with a Mick, Mike, Micky, M1/M2 or other nickname solution to the multiple Michaels confusion. To be honest I really enjoy messing with you all.

Happy anniversary Michael.


Post script (15 May 2013): I just signed a lease for a new apartment. On Michael Street. The next logical step is an eponymous sitcom.

This post was brought to you by Coke. A Cola.