Following my break up (Housemate: ‘Debbie it wasn’t a break up – you were never going out’) I was feeling quite low (‘Yes it was Laura – now let me mourn’). So I began the inevitable stages needed to get over my ex-boyfriend (Housemate: ‘stop calling him your “boyfriend” – I’m pretty sure you snogged a different guy a couple of weeks ago’).
Stage 1) Rebounding
That evening I was hurting so (instead of messaging friends who could solve the “hurting”) I (did what I ALWAYS do), messaged a few boys (every boy I’d ever known since the beginning of time).
Just when I thought all hope was lost (and it was going to be an evening of break-up masturbation).
“Debs, I would love to go for a drink. I won’t be free till 11:30? Is that too late” –
Friends: “Debbie, absolutely not – that is far too late”
Me: “Perfect – see you then”
I got dolled up (took off my bra) and relaxed with a glass of red to get some Dutch courage (which swiftly turned into a bottle) my friends got back just as I was heading off (“Debbie are you drunk?” – “Bit tipsy..”)
I boarded my train and made my way to our decided bar (the only bar that was still open), Adventure Bar.
He looked a little different than his pictures (like a “decade older” different) – he read my mind (/“what the hell happened” face) and explained; “I don’t know why, but my Happn says I’m 30, I’m actually 38” – “haha, how odd”
We ordered our drinks, both squinting at the menu from the ‘dim lighting’ (I was smashed so couldn’t see – he was probably just a bit blind from being old) “What do you fancy – red wine?” (might as well turn my entire mouth red)
So we sat, I made the usual first impressions; “I’ll probably look like a foot at your age”. I then started lying; “I could of played tennis for England” and ended my monologue with a belch.
When he put his fingers in his ears and said; “I can hear you better like this” – I thought that was it (blown it), but like a moth to a flame (if said flame was pulling down her top and squeezing her breasts together) he leaned forward, took my face in his hands and kissed me. I was stunned (along with the entire bar watching the train-wreck date).When he leaned away, my face didn’t quite convey the romance he had been hoping for (“you look like I’ve just spat on you?!”). He stormed out the bar and I watched him jump in a taxi and disappear off into the distance – never to be heard of again.
Stage 2. Keep yourself busy
Fortunately I had my birthday the following day (because everyone loves their birthday past the age of 21). My sister had booked me tickets to The Book Of Mormon. I arrived at Leicester Square (and God was ready to truly humiliate me into my 27th year of birth), whilst mindlessly pottering around I walked into the street performance (a circle of 200+ people) and was greeted by the ecstatic street dancers in the centre “YEAH – GET INVOLVED!”.
And was greeted with raputous applause (very confused looks from the crowd and my sister).
I left my fans, and my sister and I made our way to the theatre.
Afterwards we went to the portrait gallery.
And was then asked to leave after I started an argument with the lady patrolling the pictures (“What’s the point in having a picture of Kate Middleton, if I can’t get a photo with it”) and my sister ushered me out (“Debbie, please stop shouting”).
I got home and excitedly opened my presents (“Here’s some polyfilla for your wrinkles and pads for bladder weakness” cheers Dad), popped out for some food and spent the evening drinking red wine (and cowering from my housemate as she let off 26 years of built up frustration YouTubing every inspirational soundtrack ever made yelling; “THIS IS YOUR TIME DEBBIE…”)
Stage 3. Alcohol
Because that solves everything.
It was Halloween and I went on my usual rant: “I am dressing up – even if no one else is. It is Halloween..” (“oh shut up Debbie – you just want to wear your leotard for the fifth year in a row”).
Boys like this don’t come along often (they never come along) so I began to serenade (stalk) he danced (I watched) he went outside for a cigarette (I followed) he then went to the bar (I poured my drink on the floor – and stood opposite).
He seemed shy so I signalled for him to come over (I threw my neck out of place, throwing my head back – like a giraffe beginning battle).
We chatted (snogged) – as the lights came on (and I no longer resembled cat woman but more a mangey stray) it was time to head home. He asked for my number (even though his phone had no battery – but I was ready for this);
“Why don’t I just come back to yours?” (because that makes complete sense)
“No honestly, I can just give you mine” (I suddedly got selective hearing)
“So where do you live – shall we get a taxi?”
The following morning we woke and discussed more things we had in common (neither of us knew eachothers’ names) when the conversation became a little stunted (there’s only so many times you can call someone “babe” until it becomes very obvious you just did anal with a total stranger) I followed my life motto:
“If you’ve got nothing interesting to say – don’t say anything at all (OR lie)”
I left shortly after.
And strolled home (looking like I’d just extracted a pineapple from my arse).
I was greeted by my housemates when I returned;
“Good night? I told you not to go back with him”
“Why did you tell him your name was Sophie?! He’s going to realise you lied when you whatsapp him”
“It’s ok, my whatsapp name is ‘Fun Nugget’
“Well, atleast this halloween was better than last years – what did we do again?”
“I got bollocksed, punched everyone in the penis and then got put to bed”.