The founders of this language would simply define a bachelor as one that's fit to marry, but has decided to wait a little longer. I believe the longer wait is to make one live a fuller life (John 10:10) before accepting the invisible but indelible handcuffs that's the wedding ring. How little longer are we talking about though? Waiting for nightfall little longer? Waiting for Arsene Wenger's Champions League trophy little longer? Waiting for Christ little longer? Whichever time, I love the fact that "little longer" can't be quantified.
Back to the matter, the life of a bachelor. A young-adult (How is that even a thing?) male will love themselves some space and this didn't spare me. Lots of space to do lots of stuff. You've probably seen this in the movies. It's no clandestine mission, and it's not far from the truth. I happen to have found solace with Tweedledee and Tweedledum.
Tweedledee & Tweedledum are your average young-adult male. Life is lived on the first lane. Near zero memory nights at the bar. Ultimate respect for church and their creator. Weekend sports arrangement. Assured lady company.
The beauty about this life is one makes one's time. My two pals are contract workers, not so much fond of the office job. And I share the sentiments. This means that the wake up schedule has no algorithm. The earliest riser, unless otherwise stretches at 6am. That's dangerous, going by world standards. An hour late. But, my pals and I ain't about pleasing the world. We're about milking the day in the time we've allocated for activity that particular day.
Tweedledee wakes up, drags himself to the washrooms and that's the alarm for the rest of us. Breakfast is a hush hush and overrated affair unless by any chance we have fruits. That chance is a staggering 2%. When their is still bread in the packaging, a cup of tea is a must. This one is taken simultaneously with the act of dressing up. Dressing up, as a guy, is the easiest thing to do, right after choosing between a boys' night and a movie date. In no time, Dee is off to meet his first client. He doesn't at any one time fancy ties. Nonetheless, he's a smart dresser.
Dum, on the other hand, has a meeting, only after 2pm and an evening "further studies" class to prepare for. He jumps out of bed, and buries his head in paper, speeds through different research material even on the internet. He's more focused and composed than Dee. He loathes people that call him when he's trying to search for answers. By the time he's done with his research, his tea is cold. Just the way he likes it. Funny guy!
I, on the other always have work from the previous night postponed to morning waiting for me. Washing the face early and just after rising is overrated. The tasks from last night shall be tended first, otherwise, the excuse line is soon cutting my subscription. I have been advised to find a soulmate to influence my wardrobe, all in vain. It's not bad, I think. I'll throw on the first "clean" that will meet my eye and one of the many blue shirts I have. Works like magic.
Lunch is not so much of an issue. If it's a busy day, juice and a samosa does the trick and we're already onto the next one. Actually, it's always abusy afternoon.
Time really does fly. As the rays of the sun struggle as dusk strangles life out of them, we convene and catch up on the day's work. Amongst the three of us, we're actually considering a catering business. Each of us knows their way around the kitchen. One of us does the cooking while we chat, on top of our voices.
We're usually talking about European football, our own Sunday fitness program, business plans, the fairer sex, the political situation, TV shows and criticizing the education system.
As we retire to our different places of rest, it gets funny. Dee and Dum are seeing people. Girls. So they take this time to make those peculiar low voice calls to their soulmates. I, on the other hand, are always armed to the teeth for this time of the day. I think someone is seeing me but I am pretending not to want to see her. Thanks to the internet, I'm always up to date with TV shows and I use this time to catch up. Instead of completing any assignments, I postpone to the following morning and catch with Barry Allen's speed, or the troubled Mikaelson family or the mythical arrest of Mike Ross.
The beds in which we're sleeping, were they laid when we woke up in the morning? How on earth would I know? Why would I even care?