I give up.
On love, dating, men, romance, blah blah blah.
To recap: the two ones I thought might be the ones cheated on me.
The first recently got engaged to the girl he cheated with. I mean, fair play – at least it was definitely worth it. But there’s still a sniffly sort of injustice about it all, isn’t there?
(Tempered somewhat by the fact that in the last hour, she accidentally friend requested me on Facebook. Don’t worry, hen – we’ve all been there. Damn sausage fingers.)
So I am of course now terrified that the second will do the same.
Not that I care, obviously. Welcome to each other, etc etc mutter mutter grumble grumble pfft.
(I was also mildly concerned that I’d be riddled with trust issues; but now that I Officially Give Up, that doesn’t really matter.)
The first kiss I had after breaking up with the second one that might have been the one but turned out categorically not to be the one, ended in two of my best friends not speaking to me.
We’ll say no more about that.
The first date I went on after breaking up with the second one that might have been the one but turned out categorically not to be the one, went well. Really well.
Two days after our date, I went on holiday. For one week.
I came back to this.
Facebook has NEVER, before nor since, sent me an EMAIL to inform me that someone has changed their relationship status.
Thanks for that, Facebook.
My first foray back into the online dating world after breaking up with the second one that might have been the one but turned out categorically not to be the one, had similar success.
I spent a month – a full, calendar month – talking to a hot (seriously hot!), successful (he had a wine cellar in his house!), selfless (he was on the Children’s Panel!) guy; who I joked to my friends had to be too good to be true.
Turns out I was right. This may be the one and only time I do not enjoy that sentence.
He literally vanished. My ego hopes he had some sort of horrific, incapacitating accident (not died, obviously; that would be a tad extreme) – or maybe that he lost his phone (possibly the option I should have gone for first. And last).
But let’s look at my track record here – he’s no doubt, infuriatingly, completely fine.
Where did I go wrong?! I mean, ok, I sent him a photo of myself in a wedding dress. But it was made from tin foil and newspaper, for crying out loud.
And I did accuse him of not being real. Twice. But I was most probably right, so he can hardly complain.
Since then, these are the absolute best messages I’ve received:
Is he calling me wide? Or wild? Or something else entirely?
No. No it didn’t.
I am not – I repeat, NOT – a fucking squirrel.
After spending more time than I care to admit trying to explain to a guy that requiring any potential love match to believe in evolution as a general concept does NOT make me a “fickle bitch”; I decided that was quite enough of that.
So it’s either cats, or the nunnery.
And while I’m not the biggest cat fan on the planet, I’m really not sure the nun’s life is the life for me.
The habit would REALLY fuck up my hair.
