After I had been seeing the Cowboy for a while, he decided to give me the boot in a rather shitty way – cooked me dinner, let me stay the night (which finally included pretty good sex again for our standards), then ignored me for days and finally dumped me by text. Excellent. And rather ironic considering that he had a quite profound dislike of texts. A selective dislike I guess.
Now I did go a little bit bat shit crazy at him at first (not entirely unjustified I think as he was on holiday with another girl days after dumping me) but in the end I thought it was for the best after all. By drawing a line he inadvertently set me free to live my own life again. I stopped waiting for things that were never going to happen. I do admit I felt a little heart-broken, but after a couple of weeks I wasn’t too sure anymore if I just thought I had to feel like that or if I actually did.
The best remedy after a break-up is flirting and going on dates – I’m sorry if that appears to be shallow but it most certainly works for me.
I started chatting with this Italian guy, nice enough, not entirely my type but you know one of those safe options to get back into the game.
We met for lunch (as he liked to point out several times, it was just lunch, not a date). He chose so I ended up at the same place I had my first date with the text dumper. Not a great choice but I thought it might help somehow. You know, break a spell. Or bring about the end of the world. Something along those lines.
He was a bit late, which I’m sorry to say, tends to irritate me a hell of a lot. But I sucked it up like a big girl, got us a table and waited for him. Ordered a coffee. Was a little bored. When he got there, he immediately reminded me of my grandad. Not because of his age. He did have one of those caps though. And took seemingly forever to hang up said cap, and his scarf and his coat. And arrange his man bag under the table. I got bored just watching. After the slightly awkward hello – do you kiss one cheek, or both or three? I always get it wrong – we sat down, ordered food and made very polite conversation.
It was one of those dates you know from the start is not going to go anywhere and you’re kind of glad it has a time limit. It wasn’t that bad, I learnt a thing or two about Italy that I probably already knew but was good a pretending I didn’t and as this still is one of my favourite places to get dinner, I was certainly glad overall I broke the bad karma spell it had held for me for the last few months. We spoke about being divorced, the challenges of having kids – he had two, I have three – and he couldn’t contain his astonishment how I was coping with that. Maybe he should ask his ex-wife sometime. There certainly wasn’t a spark of any kind.
Of course he kindly paid for lunch and walked me back to the station – well kind of as his work happened to be on the same route. We parted ways with the same awkward peck on the cheek situation and loosely stayed in touch. That should have been the end of it and probably would have faded from memory very quickly hadn’t he popped up again a couple of months later on my whatsApp.
For some reason the boring Italian guy decided to tell me he had started seeing someone. Do you congratulate someone in that situation? No idea really, but I did anyway. The chat very quickly came to my appreciation of threesomes – errr I beg your pardon?! – followed by pics of the two of them scandily clad in bed. Needless to say I fancied neither, much to Casanova’s disappointment. He eventually disappeared, obviously disappointed that I wasn’t jumping at this chance of a menage a trois. Mi dispiace ragazzo.