THE 'WHAT A WAY TO FIND OUT' ENTRY
As regular viewers of the dullest 3 ring circus in town (also known as 'my life') will be aware about two weeks ago now I had one of the best dates I have ever had in my entire life bar none. The woman was sexy, the conversation flowed, there was laughter, the weather was adequate and all looked rosy. And then things went a bit... wrong.
So what happened?
Well, I'll tell you. The date actually seems to have fallen victim to the classic fault. It was *too* damn good. Too damn good by half. Being with a sexy, intelligent, relaxed man upfront about what he wanted out of a relationship made the lovely lady remember her *last* relationship. And thinking about that made her remember all the good times she'd had with this dude who had told her he didn't love her any more. Probing deeper I find that, from any adequate description of the events that transpired, he may not have been lying, but he may have been mistaken. I felt it my duty as a good person to point out to my potential new lady that:
a) She was in no way over this moron and
b) He was in no way over her, hence the term 'moron'
So now she's all ready to roll up her sleeves and get in there with the classic college try to 'sort things out'. *sigh*
All this did leave me with one important revelation however. The general fuckwittage surrounding this potential crash and burn (she's not convinced at all that the words 'I don't love you any more' were a mistake) is, well, NOTHING TO DO WITH ME! For the first time ever in my life I am blameless. All I did was take someone at their word and I have made the moves I made quite plain and obvious so everyone knows where they stand. Oh joy. Which means now I *know* that my next girl is to be a keeper. Maybe the, you know, BIG keeper. Gulp.
So, not the *best* way to discover you're not the emotional retard you once were but still pretty damn fine.
And to celebrate this revelation, this epiphany, the falling of the scales from my eyes I imagined banging the ex who ran away with some married dude. I imagined banging her really hard, but with a large degree of tenderness, affection and -yes- love. And then handing her her clothes afterwards and sending her out into the night unable to stand up, let alone walk, to fend for herself.
That, ladies and gentlemen, is what we call closure.
As regular viewers of the dullest 3 ring circus in town (also known as 'my life') will be aware about two weeks ago now I had one of the best dates I have ever had in my entire life bar none. The woman was sexy, the conversation flowed, there was laughter, the weather was adequate and all looked rosy. And then things went a bit... wrong.
So what happened?
Well, I'll tell you. The date actually seems to have fallen victim to the classic fault. It was *too* damn good. Too damn good by half. Being with a sexy, intelligent, relaxed man upfront about what he wanted out of a relationship made the lovely lady remember her *last* relationship. And thinking about that made her remember all the good times she'd had with this dude who had told her he didn't love her any more. Probing deeper I find that, from any adequate description of the events that transpired, he may not have been lying, but he may have been mistaken. I felt it my duty as a good person to point out to my potential new lady that:
a) She was in no way over this moron and
b) He was in no way over her, hence the term 'moron'
So now she's all ready to roll up her sleeves and get in there with the classic college try to 'sort things out'. *sigh*
All this did leave me with one important revelation however. The general fuckwittage surrounding this potential crash and burn (she's not convinced at all that the words 'I don't love you any more' were a mistake) is, well, NOTHING TO DO WITH ME! For the first time ever in my life I am blameless. All I did was take someone at their word and I have made the moves I made quite plain and obvious so everyone knows where they stand. Oh joy. Which means now I *know* that my next girl is to be a keeper. Maybe the, you know, BIG keeper. Gulp.
So, not the *best* way to discover you're not the emotional retard you once were but still pretty damn fine.
And to celebrate this revelation, this epiphany, the falling of the scales from my eyes I imagined banging the ex who ran away with some married dude. I imagined banging her really hard, but with a large degree of tenderness, affection and -yes- love. And then handing her her clothes afterwards and sending her out into the night unable to stand up, let alone walk, to fend for herself.
That, ladies and gentlemen, is what we call closure.
VIEW 4 of 4 COMMENTS
Doesn`t help much but....