Well here’s a not-unexpected confession. I follow none of my own advice. So today I think I take a leaf from the Catholic method and give you a little honesty in the hope it absolves me of my past indiscretions and stops me from doing the same next time.
The particular story I wish to tell does not spur so much from a break up, but rather a cessation of potential. Let us cast our minds back to 2005 as I tell you this tale...
This particular man and I had been progressing along at a consistent pace through the requisite stages of getting to know and increasing intimacy. I had deliberately sought to take things quite slowly, however after three months we were at that precipice where things needed definition, and procedures needed to be established.
This need existed as an obscenely large elephant in the room, neither of us willing to venture there. I was quite prepared to continue ignoring Dumbo and enjoy the good times, however this man changed entirely, suddenly growing distant, cold and displaying complete personality changes from an incredibly charming, loving person to a brittle, unapproachable individual.
Needless to say, the ‘relationship’ ended when he decided he ‘wasn’t looking for anything serious’ (yet assumed I was ?!?!) and I was understandably confused and upset.
However, he stated as calling it off, “A, you are seriously the most amazing girl I have ever met”, and hence I decided to maintain the moral high ground and act only with decorum.
Hence my vents, rants and raves were burdened upon my beautiful friends, who were more than happy to listen, agree and even make voodoo dolls.
However it seems they could take only so much. After 7 days of spiteful speak, imbued with the spirit of gin, two of my absolutely darling friends decided it was time to exact revenge. Hidden from sight in one of the sin-booths of Q Bar, my two friends unleashed a barrage of insults to the voicemail of said gentleman.My favourite moment in their retelling of events: the moment they realised they had failed to put their phone on private….
“Oh shit, this isn’t on private is it? Crap, ok. Let’s hang up, put it on private and call back. Then he won’t know who it is. Heh heh heh.”
You have to love drunken logic…. (*sidenote, what is even more concerning is that the very same thing happened to me not so long ago in entirely different circumstances. We are supposed to learn from mistakes? Well... putting your phone on private, yes.*)
Another strangely therapeutic activity when processing a break up for me seems to be substituting the name of my ex into The Rapture’s song No Sex For Ben. For all those who do not know, here it is:
I defy anyone not to feel empowered crumping and shouting away at 2am to this track, damning their ex to a sexless existence…. Trash people? Not me.
These strange break-up behaviours made me realise how much we all rely on our friends. Not only in times of relationship peril, but at all stages. Whether as wing (wo)man, sounding board, confidante, abuser or fellow egg-thrower, our friends are integral within our relationship, performing the tasks we are unable to ourselves.
Or unwilling….
Case in point: myself.
You may or may not have noticed that I am a fan of a certain musician. I have been to a few of his gigs and am personally too afraid to speak to him, lest I lose my words and look like, well, a dumb blonde.
So on two separate occasions, my fantastic buddies took the buck for me and initiated conversation, whilst I stood there, too sober to partake. My friends continued the discussion, initiated some photo-taking and even handed over my number.
That is truly what friends are for…. Humiliating themselves for others.
I promise I am quite willing to do the same for them… as soon as I get the chance (or they let me).
No comments:
Post a Comment