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Then
from out of no
where I
hear……….”HI”…OH.
Its
mid afternoon
and “HI” has
come to meet me
from work: to
walk me to my
house.
Two
words. Piss Off.
I’m quite
capable of
walking home
from work ON MY
OWN- in the
middle of a hot
summers day. In
fact- (not that
“HI” would
have even
considered this)
I like walking
home on my own!
“I
thought I’d
come and meet
you,” he said.
(& Without
making reference
to every bloke
that meets his
girlfriend from
work, in fact,
he’s actually
saying…)
“ I’ve been
doing nothing
all day except
mopping around
listening to
Sepultura and
feeling sorry
for myself. I
can’t do
anything as I
think I’m in
love with you
after one day,
so please please
can we start
planning the
wedding
as…………oh
shit dude I’m
nearly 30 and
unmarried! No
kids! MY WIFE
HUNT MUST END!
I’m
good at two
words. PISS OFF.
How
did I get
tangled up with
such a cheesy
old bugger (as
me best mate
would describe
him!) I hear you
ask.
Well,
“HI” (who
shall remain
anonymous) was
ok I spose in
the
beginning.
It’s
my own fault
really and I do
continually ask
how I get my
self into such
scrapes.
After
consuming two
bottles of wine
me and me grrl
in crime, dived
into the Surfers
Against Sewage
Ball, - full
Rio-Carniball
style. We
proceeded to
consume several
tickets worth of
free Tequila as
we have
discovered that
Tequila grrls
have even more
fun than
Lambrini grrls
do!
I
need say no
more. By the
early hours of
the morning,
there being no
sign of my grrl,
I collapsed in a
corner in a bed
of plastic pint
glasses and wet
feathers. With
conversation
from a half
empty bottle of
wine and
“HI”.
A
couple of days
later we took a
walk along the
beach, and
talked about
Pearl Jam and
life and stuff,
which was all
right.
He
asked if he
could see me
again and I
thought ok,
he’s a ‘nice
guy’ (just
what I needed
apparently after
“that last
wanker”)…someone
nice and
safe…who
turned out to be
(get ya bucket
ready)
Clingy,
paranoid, and
WEAK and still
in need of his
mother (or a
wife preferably)
Ahhhhhhhhhhhh
my skin is
crawling,
crawling with
hundreds and
hundreds of
cockroaches like
that scene in
The Craft!
I
NEED A
BUCKET!!!!
But
to conclude this
sad tale of
sickness…
Everyone
has shit, but if
u don’t make
yourself deal
with issues, no
one else is
gonna pick you
up out of your
pool of
self-pity. I’v
been people’s
emotional punch
bag before and
I’m sorry, but
I’m not
letting it
happen again.
I’m not cruel
and heartless,
but after only
1week I don’t
need “HI”
sat on the sofa
crying and
saying how
fucked up his
life is.
AND
I don’t need
my shopping done
for me, or my
washing, or to
be put up on a
pedistool of any
sort. I HATE
WEAK MEN.
Wot
I like is a guy
who leaves you
buzzing and
jumping around
your now trashed
bedroom.
Weakness
is my sickness,
so I got rid of
him and carried
on living my own
mad, independent
life. Shit
happens they say
and I found
myself a
bad
boy who was
wicked (in the
good sense of
the word) who
bursting with
positivity and
life, and was
compassionate
without being
suffocating and
weak.
So
the moral of
today’s story
is be warned of
Mr Nice
guy
(Unless
you are 19 and
just dying to
get that ring on
ya finger!! and
start cooking
him nice little
dinners!!)
Get
yourself a Bad
boy. That’s
what I did. But
that’s another
story………….
Helen
Rossiter |
