Is it possible that I’ve finally learned my lesson with Uni Boy? I think the answer might be a tentative yes.

You may be surprised to know that, exactly as per the book, I didn’t call him. Actually, I didn’t need to. We both turned up at a mutual friend’s party … and that, of course, was that. As sure as night follows day, we went home together.

Naturally, he was ready to dash off before breakfast, the cad. But after a faint moue of protest, we eventually spent a gloriously relaxing Sunday together, watching films and scoffing popcorn as the rain poured down outside.

But the very next day, things turned sour … and what’s most perplexing is that I’m still not exactly sure how it happened. I’d said or done something that annoyed him – of course – and soon we were giving it a posthumous dissection in a pointless text debate that went round and round and round without solving anything.

Now, I don’t lay all the blame at his door. I know I can sometimes seem tiresomely obtuse in “discussions”, when I keep asking for more and more clarification because I just don’t get it.

I know that I can get caught on one point, and keep hammering away at it if I don’t get a satisfactory explanation, simply because I really want to know. And I know I can view myself in an utterly tragic light, with all the self-pitying comments that such a harsh self-assessment implies.

Arguing by instant message is possibly the most stupid way to fall out, but the upshot of the whole debate was that I make him feel bad for a variety of vague and not strictly specified reasons, and he makes me feel bad by thinking all those vague and unspecified (but definitely not complimentary) things about me.

We’re typing furiously, without really resolving anything, when he pulls the mother of all phrases to use in an argument with your (not so) beloved:

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

He’s right, of course: the discussion is pointless. But if someone doesn’t want to talk about it anymore when you’re instant messaging them, what can you do?

Well, all you really can do is sit there on your own and feel completely wretched. So I do.

As I sit, I ponder the couple of months we’ve spent together. Although even the word ‘together’ seems like a bit of an exaggeration; ‘intermittently conjoined’ might be more to the point. Depending on your point of view, there’s an earth-shattering chemistry that repeatedly binds us together, or we’re both completely bored with nothing better to do.

Whichever it is, I’m not feeling good about it. And if hanging out with someone isn’t making you feel good, then what’s the point?

I know I’ve said it before, I know. But this time I sit down and write him an email that says, more or less, thanks for everything and goodbye.

Because although the good bits were really good, stepping on eggshells has never been a talent of mine … and what’s the point in getting upset about someone who only cares about you part-time?

Now, I may not be the prettiest or the smartest or the sexiest woman in the world, but I’m pretty sure I’m good enough to be loved full-time. And he may be funny and charming and sexy and all the rest, but if Uni Boy doesn’t want me, he’d better move out of the way for the one who does.

It’s hard to pull the plug on someone you’re attached to, however tenuously. But as fond as I am of Uni Boy, when push comes to shove, there’s no denying that I’m a whole lot fonder of me.