You won't find another fool like me, babe (New Seekers, 1973) Part 2

Three days until the date and email-wise we were practically walking off hand in hand into the cyber sunset with Mantovani's orchestra in the background. You can click the link and play it in another window while reading… Ambience, doncha know?

I’d ransacked my wardrobe for something suitable to wear – smart/casual  I thought would be most appropriate – and, taking Stella’s example about feeling good about yourself, I’d nipped in to town to buy some new lingerie. Before you get any ideas, I was not planning on revealing the afore-mentioned undies; I just thought it might put an added spring in my step.

Oh, did I tell you that he had a beard? It had caused me some consternation initially - not that I’m pogonophobic, you understand. No, I had another worry. I spent most of my 21^st year being madly in love with a guy with a beard, and let’s say we were both in the happy position of counting kissing as our main hobby. Yum – he was such a good snogger! (Hehe! Wouldn’t it be great if you could put that in the Skills and Talents section of CVs?) However, the cruel facts are these: beards and moustaches irritate delicate skin, so for most of that year I looked like this.

My beloved didn’t care: I didn’t care. The tongue action and ancillary stuff was worth it. Still, on reflection, it’s not an optimum look for a woman moving into that 50 plus bracket. Besides, according to Stella, I have a moustache of my own. ( Ha! I’ve just had a vision of our two moustaches rubbing against each other like two bits of twig and precipitating a forest fire. But I digress. Bit of a Salvador Dali moment there.) 

Anyway, two days before the date I got an email. The abridged version went thus.

My dear Bette,

I have no idea where to begin or how to put this into words. I have been looking forward so much to us meeting that I have barely thought of anything else, now sadly that cannot now happen. I have always been totally open and honest with you, my life, my past and my hopes for the future. In that continued manner of honesty I have to tell you that a few days ago I met someone and started a relationship with her.

Erm, I'm sorry? What? WHAT? WHAT?

I sat there for a couple of minutes, waiting for it to sink in, wondering if the whole thing had been a massive hoax by some Nigerian in a spider-infested basement in Lagos trying to scam a few grand off some desperate idiot woman (***waves at friends***) on the other side of the world… How weird! But the email went on to say that he had some bad news about something and in a moment of (let’s call it) frailty, maybe loneliness, for want of anything better,  when this opportunity presented itself i.e. a willing female with a pulse, he grabbed it.

He went on to say I had every right to think of him as the bastard of all time – oh, and a whole pack of other stuff. Explanations, justifications:  yada schmada, etc, and so on and so forth.

Now, I don’t know about you… But me, apart from being taken aback by the complexities of human nature, I just thought, ‘OK, girl. You’ve been a twerp. You are probably well out of it. If this person is so needy that he succumbs to temptation at the whiff of Smartie, you are well out of it.’ More than anything though, it was a bubble bursting moment; one second the optimism and happiness was palpable, next second no trace. Rien. Nada.

However, it was really less about temptation, I think, and more about need, and with regard to this, I felt sorry for him. Need, loneliness, the desire for human contact. Women have it easier on this score. I’ve got my kids for affection; I have a loving family to whom I can turn at any time; I have a whole bunch of girly friends whom I can hug whenever I please. Bella thinks nothing of it if I drape myself across her while we’re watching telly when I’m at her house, and neither does her husband. Even that prickle bucket Stella rarely leaves without a little hug and kiss, no matter how revolting(ly) I behave, look or smell, which as you know is generally très on all counts when I’m chez moi in blob mode.  

So I replied politely - no reason to do otherwise - and said I wished him well and hoped everything would work out for him and this lady. Followers! What would be the point of anything else? It had cost me nothing (we’ll discount the hair cut/colour, lingerie and lasering because they are all long term projects), I had in fact had a super time living in this Lala-land, and no harm was really done.

Three days later I got another email. Gob-smacking it was. 

Now I've read somewhere that blogs should only appear in bite-size chunks (I've failed already!) because none of us has the attention span we used to have in the old days before GM foods, and our lives are way too busy to read whole chapters at a time. So, this seems a good moment to let you do whatever your life currently demands.