I don't know about you but if I do something I put my whole self into it, none of this half hearted crap. This is the same with everything in my life, even fucking up. When I do it I do properly. So recently when I fucked up, I fucked up royally. Naturally it sucks, it sucks giant donkey testicles. Why must I listen to others and aggravate a situation? This would not have happened to my six year self I am telling you. She would have put her foot down and said 'no, no, I do actually know what I'm doing, hush your noise now other people'. However, me, today at the supposedly wiser 26 years needs all the help she can get. Or at least sometimes I do. Other times I look back on a situation and think, hang on a tick tock, I did know what I was doing and if I had simply listened to myself and not others I'd be flying right now. Damn! But this 'knowing-what-I'm-doing' malarkey is such a rarity when it comes to love that I tend to shy away from my own opinions and religiously rely on the advice of others. Recently though it has resulted in that royal fucking up I was telling you about. Did I mention it sucked!? Giant donkey testicles!? Oh, I did.
I am forever missing the opposite sexes 'signs' when it comes to relationships, misreading them or my personal favourite, realising exactly what the sign meant a year too late. I remember a time when conversing with the first boy I ever loved about four months after our break up at the tender age of 17 and missing a fairly big sign. A massive sign in fact. The sign in question was flashing in neon colours and was less of a sign and more of a 'I still fucking like you' but I still missed it. Let me elaborate; my ex and I were having one of our usual hour long phone conversations of which I was apparently on top form, 'Jo, you make me laugh. You just always make me smile. All the time!' was uttered. What a prat for missing that sign, I hear you say! We had dated after all. It gets worse. Oh, does it get worse. Yep, I missed that sign and just thought he was being nice, he was a nice guy after all, but there is more. Later on the conversation moved onto 'if we liked anyone' (we were only 17 after all) and my first love said 'Oh, there's just one girl I like, I guess. She just always makes me smile. All the time!'...yes, I missed that one too. As I was sitting on my lilac bedspread (I confess, I owned a lilac bedspread. I can hear Dynasty and The Blonde One mocking me now) on the phone to my lovely ex, the boy I still loved, I remember thinking 'I wish I was that girl'. It was only after a few months when recalling the phone call to The Blonde One that I suddenly realised he was talking about me. Or perhaps The Blonde One had to point it out to me, I forget now. What a clueless idiot I was. How The Blonde One remaind my friend after that I will never know. She clearly thought I would need all the help my chubby little hands could get. I still do. In fact, I think I'm getting worse.
Although I can now tell when a guy likes me (yes, I have completed the first course of 'dating for moron's' as you can see. Excellent), I still find it hard to know when 'like' turns into 'relationship'. I'm telling you I've not a flipping clue. Not one. I'm thinking of hiring a PA to 'read between the lines' of those naughty text messages or someone's 'hidden meaning'. I hate hidden meanings. It was so much simpler in year 6 when two boys would present themselves to you after break and say 'we both like you, so who is going to be your boyfriend?' At the time I thought this was the hardest decision I had ever made. I took a whole day to decide, practically a lifetime when you're 11. I must say though, the one I chose did end up being my boyfriend for a Whole Month. That's marriage in year 6 terms, right!?
So as I sit here in my wee flat I can't help but think that I need a new plan. I don't think they'll let me complete the next level of 'dating for moron's' once they've read this so...I'm all ears. It's either that or my dying-alone-with-no-one-noticing-until-I-am-half-eaten-by-rabbits-and-can-only-be-identyfied-by-my-dental-records (I don't even own a rabbit) fantasy is going to start rearing its ugly head again.
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