A–musing of Men...

Went to bed last night with a ball of a head ache, took tablets but woke up this morning with a pounding still in my poor brain. Classic PMT for me but still painful none the less, I still want to be in bed ;o( 

I can’t shift it and the tension is written all over my face today for everyone to see. Including one particular person, who thought it would be entirely appropriate for him to put his hand on my shoulder and begin massaging my neck whispering “you just have to let all this go”. I presume he meant my stress and tension and not letting my fist fly into smug cheek bones - which I was very nearly considering. Also the fact that I am even taking a moment to scribe this to you just proves how even this tiny event, that I would normally let pass by with a minimal ‘F-Off’, is grating on me and my poor little head. This my friends is definitely going to be a bad day.

“So dad told me the quizz starts at 8, but actually it started at 7… There’s me rushing like a tit in a trance, already half an hour late and willing the cab driver to get a wiggle on. I really didn’t care about his wife living in the Seychelles and who just had a baby (with him? Who knows…) just find the accelerator and step on it.” 

I leapt out of the cab, buttoned up my coat and began the walk up the winding path to the school main entrance. Even though it was cold and dark, the familiar route, surroundings and even the rustle of the trees brings a warm, homely feeling which was rather comforting. Following the footsteps of my early childhood I can’t help but smile and reminisce at the wonderfully innocent games of tag, hide and seek, what’s the time Mr. Wolf and my obvious favorite - kiss chase. A lot has changed over the years but the chipped paint, faded playground hopscotch and the mixed scents of school dinners with PVA still linger, only I am sure the walk took much longer to the front door…

Then to my surprise and I was greeted at the entrance by Mr. Universe, no honestly he had bigger guns than the Iron Duke. Completely unexpected but was a rather pleasant snap back to the present. After a moment of miming and frantic hand signals he realised that I was in fact not a small low flying aircraft and buzzed me in. After informing me that I had intercepted his route to the little boys room, he raised his mammouth arm and wavered in the general direction of the main hall. I quickly put the thought aside of him attempting to aim in a urinal that was the size of one of his thighs, at the height of his kankles, in his apparent tipsy state (yes, there is alcohol! I now love this even more) and headed down the stairs to find my father and fellow team mates. Then promptly wishing I hadn’t and wanting the world to swallow me up for that moment.

Apparently there was a back door… All 150 eyes turned to me as my heels clipped down the concrete steps. The Al Murry wannabe master of ceremonies made some wonderful joke about my untimely tardiness and out of the corner of my eye there’s good old dad waving like you would send off a ship. Great. Where’s my tiny chair and a pour me a glass of wine.

“That’s the last one” I say as I begrudgingly hand over the last beer in the ice bucket of the most amazing halloween party ever. Even through the dramatic make up he could see the look of disappointment on my face, so instantly took it upon himself to drag me from the premises forthwith, down the corridor and into the conveniently awaiting lift with initially only one plan in mind. For the sake of the party and for our outrageous flirting to blossom, we needed more alcohol. The doors closed, we locked eyes and that was apparently all it took to get the best hour and a half snog of my life…”

That amazing feeling you get on a first kiss was amplified by the confined cozyness of the lift and the fact that I had on the most understatedly provocative period costume, complete with tall wig, false eyelashes, garter and a dainty black heart perfectly placed on my revealing décolletage. Of course the initial intake of alcohol helped but honestly I couldn’t tell you how euphoric I felt at that moment and I didn’t want to let it go… so whilst drunkly attached to his face I frantically pushed all the buttons to stop at every floor - but rather annoyingly there were only five and at that moment of realisation we both instinctively pressed them all again to head back up.

Unfortunately kissing and fumbling under the influence meant that the minutes blurred and before we knew it a musical tone chimed bringing us back to reality indicating that the lift had stopped and the doors were about to open. Again. Inevitably we were greeted by fellow party goers, re-stocked with their blue plastic bags filled with freshly chilled beverages. So there was us on the floor of the smallest lift in the world surrounded by masses of underskirt, a dishevelled appearance and most of my facepaint around his once tidy beard. Failing to look remotely innocent meant that an uncomfortable moment followed as we headed back up to the top floor, oh not forgetting to awkwardly pose for a photo courtesy of our latest lift buddies. A couple of young Japanese girls with a Kodak wind up camera (old School, love it). As quick as the camera flashed we were waving our newly found friends goodbye then the lift doors closed for another private journey to the ground level… Where we did eventually exit, stagger round the corner to the local petrol station and purchased the most disgusting bottle of wine we had ever tasted. Funnily enough we didn’t drink the wine and as it turned out we didn’t even need the wine to decide to take another few trips in the elevator.

I don’t know whether it was the disguise and mixture of senses or the fact that I hadn’t even gotten close to a man in months that made the whole episode so delicious, but I can tell you he enjoyed it as much as me and we are meeting this weekend. Fabulous.  

‘“Sitting at my computer on the phone to an important client about a rather important job and it happens. A tiny pop up in the bottom right hand corner materialises, making my heart leap into my throat. My mind goes blank and incomprehensible babble falls out of my mouth just before I pop the phone back in it’s place. I take a deep breath, I open my mail… and my heart instantly sinks like a lead balloon - no, it wasn’t him.”

I had waited just over a month for that email and in pretty much every spare minute I went over all possible scenarios in my head. I hate that, why do boys take over your brain?… Finally late in the afternoon after numerous false hopes it came and typically I wished it hadn’t. My gut instincts turned out to be correct, capital ‘F’ indeed.

Reading it felt like being smacked in the face with a feather duster, no real substance and it sort of tickled and teased at my emotions. It was such a sweet, open, genuine response I couldn’t fault it or him - except for the fact it swept away a three month beautiful ‘emailationship’, six wonderful dates, a Curly Wurly in the post and the hope of it blossoming into something rather lovely. That very well known saying to all women about the best ones are always taken or gay, well I want to add ‘chicken’ to the end of that too. 

In all open heartedness I am gutted and I won’t deny there was a little tear as I wrote the only response to such an email “So now wouldn’t be an appropriate time to tell you I had your name tattooed on my bum…” I really couldn’t think of anything else to say and he quite rightly pointed out that I was being rather laid back about it but the truth is I didn’t have any reason what so ever to be mad, stroppy, upset or to justify throwing crockery at him. So the only way I can keep my chin up and not get sad is to just try to smile and I hope that after everything it made him smile too.

“After having spent half an hour being tempted and teased by a delicious sweetie dangling before my very eyes (but always just out of reach…) I watched as he slowly walked away with slightly less spring in his step and a little grey rain cloud hovering above his rather spiffing new haircut. As I turn to put the key in the door, I can’t help but smile as I think to myself - ‘he should have brought his umbrella’…”

There it is, that niggling feeling ticking its way through my very being. If I am completely honest with myself I have probably been fobbed off with a capital ‘F’, but at that very moment I was inspired by that little beacon of light - the gentle words, the distracting kisses, yes those pretty blue eyes and of course my natural ability to find the goodness in everyone. Sigh. For at least a month I have been willing the invitation for date number seven to miraculously appear in my inbox, secretly hoping that being genuine, supportive and all round rather lovely are qualities men look for these days. Just checked again, no still nothing… Dam it.