It’s a beautiful sunny day (if you ignore the wind and the clouds) and I’m meeting some friends in the park. It’s the closest we’ve had to barbeque weather for a while and we’re determined to make the most of it.
I’m in a buoyant mood as I cycle along and, once I’ve locked my bike up, I decide to send a quick text to Uni Boy.
“Hey you!” I write. “How’s things?”
Surprisingly, I get an almost instant response.
“Interesting!” he replies. “Boss has quit. Looks like I’m in for a promotion!”
Wow. This is an interesting development. He’d had a sneaking suspicion that his boss was about to resign, and that he might be asked to replace him. Not only would it mean a big step up the ladder, it would also mean he’d be staying in the UK as head of about a gazillion offices.
“Wow!” I write, “Congratulations! You must be celebrating. Does that mean the move is off?”
“Yup,” he replies. “The world can wait. The UK needs me 🙂 What are you up to today?”
“Finally some sunshine,” I write, “BBQ in the park today. Missing you!”
“Sunshine?” comes the reply. “Wow! Missing you too … though maybe we should quit while we’re ahead. Don’t want to get used to this.”
I stare at the screen. Somewhere in the back of my mind an alarm bell starts ringing. Maybe I’m jumping to conclusions, but…
“Hang on a minute,” I write. “Does that mean you’re dumping me?”
Again, a near instant response.
“Gorgeous girl,” he says, “I would never dump you. But maybe it’s time to move on to pastures new.”
Bloody hell! He is dumping me! He’s staying in the UK and now he’s dumping me. I feel as though I’m in a lift on the 13th floor and the cable just broke.
“So you are dumping me …” I write.
“Gorgeous, funny, clever, sexy lady,” he replies, “I honestly think you’re the best. If I were five years older, I’d ask you to marry me. But I’m young and stupid … and it had to end sooner or later, didn’t it?”
Now I’ll be the first to admit that I was never likely to become Mrs Uni Boy, but I thought we’d been having fun. Lots of fun. Enough fun to keep on having fun for a little while longer.
From the first evening that we got together, I’d felt comfortable in his company. There was no initial awkwardness, no uncomfortable silences … we were like hand and glove right from the start. Sure, he’s a few years younger than me – he wasn’t in my year at uni, nor even the year below – but since I wasn’t looking to him for marriage and babies, I didn’t think it mattered.
I’m about to reason with him, telling him why he’s wrong and why there’s so much more fun to be had, when I suddenly realise it’s pointless. His mind is made up. Discussing it won’t help. So for once in my life, I do the smart thing: I give up, and shut up.
“OK,” I write, with superhuman restraint. “Sorry to hear that. It’s been fun. I’ll miss you. Best of luck with the new job xx”
Everything’s always alright.
But I’m beginning to make a habit of getting dumped. And for being too old, as well. Does this mean I’m not even good enough to be a fling now? Depressing.
Although my heart’s not really in it, I join my friends for the barbeque. And of course, after a while, everything really is alright – or at least, swept under the carpet to be dealt with another day.
Later, at home, I’m contemplating the day’s events and feeling just a little bit glum. I really will miss Uni Boy; I liked his cuddles and his upbeat take on life. Just as my mood is turning morose, a message pings onto my computer screen.
“Hey, sexy! What’s cooking?”
It’s the Peruvian Puma. I can’t help but smile.
“Ready for another of my famous dances? ;)” he writes.
You know what? I really think that I am. Could there be a better way to bring a smile to a sad lady’s face? Laughing to myself, I type my response.
“Hit me with it, wild thing!”
And you know what? He does.