Turning Heads

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‘How’s it going with Orla?’ I ask.CC Image courtesy of utnapistim on Flickr

‘We exchanged a couple of emails today.’

‘That’s good.  It’s when they’re one-way that you have to worry.’

‘It’s not good,’ he says.

‘Oh – why?’

‘She dumped me.’

‘Oh.  I’m sorry.  What did she say?’

‘That she’s too busy for a romantic relationship… I know what that means of course.  It means she doesn’t like me enough.  Because no one’s too busy for the right person.’

‘Err, well, errrr…’ What do you say to that?  ‘… yeah, well, you’ve kinda hit the nail on the head there.’  Not that.  ‘Aaaw I’m sorry.’  Better.

‘I don’t understand.  She just turned!  It was perfect – and then it wasn’t.  I hate women!’

‘Men do it too!  Look at Joe – he turned.’  Literally, in the street.  ‘We’re all fucking ballerinas.’  Poetic.  ‘It may well have been the ex thing, like you said.’

He’d told me the other day that he thought she might be getting back together with her ex.

‘Yeah, well, I’m gonna run with that,’ he says.

‘Yeah, good plan… and come dancing tomorrow!  It’s a good distraction from this kind of thing.’

It’s not, but I’d like you to be there.

CC Image courtesy of bichxa on Flickr



Family Concerns

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‘Didn’t you mention that your father reads your blog?! My father would be horrified to find out such things about his daughter!’

A friend’s reaction to Sex Before Christmas.

 

The same day, I get a message from my brother:

‘[E]rm, i think u might want to tone down ur blog a bit[.]’ 

Five years at one of the country’s leading public schools.  Still no word from my father.

 

Knits ‘n’ Knobs goes up.  Within the hour, I get an email:

‘Navy blue.  I would have kept it.  Dad’

 

That evening, over supper, my mother informs him,

‘Our son took exception to the blog post, ‘Sex Before Christmas’.’

‘Oh yes?’

‘Did you read it?’

‘I think so.  Was it the one about the navy blue jumper? I would have kept the jumper.’

Shades of beige t-shirt


Fallout

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You’re probably wondering what happened with Thursday Guy post-Perfect Message.  (Don’t worry, he didn’t order ice-cream.  And if he had, Exception #1 closely followed by #3 and #4 would probably have applied, since he took me to a Michelin-starred restaurant for our first date.)  Well, Wandering Hands is what happened, and we know how that one panned out.

Pass the Ben and Jerry’s.

CC Image courtesy of theimpulsivebuy on Flickr

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The Exception and the Rule

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I came home the other day to a Facebook message from Thursday Guy.  It was perfect, except that it had taken four days, and four (for me) sleepless nights, to materialise. In that time, I had been through the gamut of possible reasons for lack of response, and come to the following conclusions:

  1. Sudden death – even at 38, this was unlikely.CC Image courtesy of David Masters on Flickr
  2. Amnesia – just unlikely.
  3. No internet access – he works in London, at a computer …
  4. Lovely weather so he is not on his computer in the evenings because he wants to make the most of the sun – see my earlier post, Cruel to be Kind.
  5. Something involving secret agents/localised power failures…

Thus I powered up the laptop with next-to-no expectations (wevs) to find a message beginning ‘Sorry, been home, out of internet range…’.  No. 3, I’m sorry I doubted you.  It transpires that there are pockets of rural England which the internet has not yet reached.  Like I said, the message was perfect.

 

With Wandering Hands maintaining radio silence, I am telling myself that Thursday Guy – with his lack of internet access – was an exceptional case.  W.H. texted on Sunday evening.  I replied a couple of hours later (the root rot was terminal).  It’s now Friday morning and I haven’t heard back.  Common sense tells me it’s a dead duck.  My promise to you is that if he hasn’t replied by midnight tonight, I will delete his number from my phone and its owner from my thoughts.

00:21  The number has gone.

CC Image courtesy of Flood on Flickr

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Cruel to be Kind

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CC Image courtesy of crosathorian on FlickrI thought Thursday Guy was just another crush, another notch on my emotional bedpost.  But then the insomnia started, accompanied by the sending of crazy emails to my best friend at 4am.  I had been so sure that there was something there that it was proving difficult to let go.

Wednesday evening, I rang my Mum.

‘No word from Thursday Guy.’

‘Oh?’

‘It’s been nearly three days and he hasn’t replied to my message.  Not a good sign, eh?’

‘Did you ask him a question?’

‘Yes, I asked if he’d had a nice weekend.  Shouldn’t have done that, should I?’

‘Hmmm probably not.’

‘I guess I just got the impression he liked me so I didn’t feel the need to play games… maybe, cos it’s lovely weather, he’s not at his computer much…’

‘Hmmm.’

Two lessons that can be learnt from the above:

  1. If you are using the weather to explain a man’s silence, it is time to move on.
  2. If you want someone to lie to you and say what you want to hear but know to be untrue, call a friend, not your mother.

CC Image courtesy of edd_b on Flickr

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