I've always prided myself on being a pretty "cool" and laid-back girlfriend. We share many friends so there is never the whole 'your mates and my mates' kind of division, no difficult decisions when it comes to birthdays or big nights out. It's always been nice and easy, he doesn't go on many big "lads nights" and I don't go on many girls-only nights out either. When we do, the other one never cares. It's simple and uncomplicated.
This year we've done more things separately than in years previous, with us both going on separate holidays earlier in the year, him to San Diego and Vegas and me to Croatia with the girls. Each break was a nice and timely reminder that we do miss each other while apart, and that returning home to each other is still something to look forward to -- something that sometimes it's only natural to question.
After five years, would I be bothered by him being across the world for a week? Well, yes. We missed each other, to an extent I didn/'t really expect. We aren't a massively soppy couple by any means, but I've saved the Whatsapp messages we sent each other during his time away and look back at them every now and again. They give me little butterflies.
ANYWAY, sorry if that made you vom into your hand.
As we've got to the age where people start marrying off on an increasingly regular basis, this year has also been ripe with Hen Do's that I've been lucky enough to be invited on. I went to Edinburgh at the beginning of the year and drank home-made cocktails that were almost entirely gin, while been served pizza by a guy with a "YOLO" tattoo on his bicep, with his arse out. We danced in a club, went home and ate cold chicken nuggets while smoking the last of our fags on the balcony of the apartment. It was great.
A month later, I was part of a 20-odd strong group of women headed to Dublin for another great friend's Hen celebration. Again, there were cocktails, rowdy dancing, willy straws and hangovers. Many, many shots. At one point, my friend Lou and I stood at the bar and did two shots one after the other, looked at each other and both ran to the toilets where we threw them up in toilets next to each other. Friendship! It's a beautiful thing. We then befriended a woman who had the faces of all her children tattooed on her upper arm. She was fun.
As I was doing this, Chris was at home, not worrying about what I was up to. Of course he wasn't -- he had nothing to worry about at all. Nearly all of the girls on each trip were either married or in long term relationships -- these weren't trips where we were going to try and get off with anyone. Not interested.
It's his turn now, with his friend's Stag celebration happening this weekend. It's going to be a large group of them, nearly all single, and going to Amsterdam. And I'm going a little bit mental in my head about it, like a crazy woman. Now, I've been to Amsterdam, it's a brilliant, beautiful city, full of culture and awesome museums and great people. I know it's not all sex tourism and magic mushrooms.
I was totally cool with it at first. "Oh, that'll be nice" I probably said, when he told me. But in the last couple of weeks or so, as the date creeps nearer, I found my thoughts turning darker.
On Monday night, as we were watching telly together on our crap sofa that you can't quite lay on together without getting a foot in your shin, or an elbow in your rib, I attached myself to him like a needy limpet.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
'"Nothing!" I squeezed him harder and tried to bury myself in his armpit.
After asking what was up, and wondering why I was being so clingy a couple more times, I cracked. Out came all the mental shit that I'd built up in my head in the past few days. It all came tumbling out. Totally killed my cool.
"I'm worried about you going to Amsterdam and you're probably going to shag a prostitute and if not a prostitute then someone else and everyone will try and get you to cheat on me and everyone else is single apart from Pete and there'll just be women everywhere!"
WOW. Way to be cool, Natalie. Totally not psycho.
"Of course I'm fucking not," he replied. "I am not going to cheat on you! And of course no one will try and make me!"
"But don't you want to? They'll all be really fit and sexy and I'm just a bit rubbish and boring and they won't care whether you use their toothbrush!" I urged, referring to the fact that EVERY DAY I have to (have to) shout at him for using my bloody toothbrush when he has his own.
He assured me that of course I wasn't boring and rubbish and that I was attractive and that I had nothing to worry about, which really and truly I know is the case. But this mental, irrational woman inside my usually completely not jealous, not insecure in the slightest shell just wouldn't leave it, and I did go to bed a little worried.
I know that I trust Chris 100%, and I really can't imagine a scenario where anything untoward would happen. I've just turned totally batshit for a moment -- and despite being really happy for him that he's going to have a wicked weekend with all his mates, I still can't shake the feeling that I'll be even happier on Monday, when he's home again. Home again to me wearing a really oversized NFL jersey, with unbrushed hair and shouting at him for using my toothbrush.
Maybe I'll let him off on Monday. Only maybe, though. I've not gone totally mad.
Being totally sane on Twitter: @Natalie_KateM