Readers, you may remember I did a post called ‘The First Date’ around 6 months ago (if not – quick recap; I got bollocksed, couldn’t walk, called his penis a grower and ended the evening in an Iron Man mask).
I thought this was the last date; however thanks to my positive, optimistic (“if you don’t talk to me I will break into your home”) outlook on life and with a few heartfelt messages and strategically taken tinder moments…
We messaged everyday, saw each other once a week, had ‘cute’ private jokes (when I was annoying he would blast the hair dryer at me).
I gave him presents (I found a bracelet on the road) and we never argued (apart from when ‘road bracelet’ gave him a rash and I had to be honest that I hadn’t bought it from a shop). I sent romantic (naked) photos (taken in Ann Summers changing rooms, forgetting to put my phone on silent; so as the flash sounded and I left the store – I’d receive glares as I continued to buy nothing and just use their changing rooms as my private studio.)
As we started closing in on 6 months, I was ready to take the next step – so I said it:
But he wasn’t ready (“I’m not free for the whole of November”). He stopped speaking to me (Housemate: “Debbie, its been 8 hours – chill out”). I began to feel the usual panic and paranoia mounting. I invited (begged) him to come over for a glass of red and we did the usual. (I watched him, watch QI; “Are you staring at me again?” – “No..”)
Just as he got ready to leave I had to ask – hearing my friends in my head;
“Seriously there is nothing to worry about – why would he spend all this time with you, of course he’s not sleeping with anyone else”
I took a deep breath and said it; “Are you still speaking to other girls?”
“I’m still responding to messages”
I explained I wasn’t angry (no, because I’m fucking FUMING) – just a little upset (Little my arse – I’ve been going round telling people I’m seeing someone. This is more embarrassing than when I got chased out of Mahiki by a bouncer for using my shoes as weapons of mass destruction).
I tried to hold back the tears and remain calm – asking him politely to leave and never speak to me again.
I woke the following morning and explained it to my housemates:
“What the hell?! I’m genuinely shocked”
“He’s just super busy, he doesn’t have the time”
“Debbie, the Prime Minister is ‘super busy’ but he still manages to have a wife and kids – at least now you won’t have those rollercoaster emotions”
“Just don’t do anything silly”
“When have I ever.”