Flowers, tons of them, in my arms, yellow tulips, roses, daffodils, they cost me a fortune, but I really wanted the house to look pretty.
A new dress. Okay. I lie. Three new dresses, because I wasn’t sure if I should wear the silk one, the grey one, the tight sexy one, or the one that slips off easily.
Stockings, because it’s winter and tights are not so sexy. But black stockings or fishnet stockings, sheer or lacy, thigh high or maybe no stockings at all.
I waxed. Only my legs, because by God I’ve done the Brazilian before and I will never ever ever do that again no matter how much I like the guy.
But I waxed my legs, I had a manicure, a pedicure, and okay, I had a bikini wax too, but I did stop at bikini.
Chanel No 5. I kept thinking of him nuzzling my neck.
And the fridge. I filled it with all the best ingredients, spent a fortune at Woolies, because he said ‘I want to cook with you, ricotta dumplings, artichoke salad, a caramelized orange cake, here’s a list of ingredients, you buy them, I’ll cook…’
Ingredients are very bloody expensive you know.
We’d met by chance and had dinner, we’d had a second dinner, and then a third. It was a whirlwind. He overwhelmed me.
Bombarded me. A wild romance. He mailed me, texted me, bbm’d me, whatsapped me, phoned me to say good morning, phoned me to say good night, and more than anything, he talked to me.
A man who was not only handsome and could cook, but one who could communicate.
He had baggage. Loads of it. I knew that. But I qualified it by saying ‘I have baggage too’. I can deal with baggage.
And so we moved on to Date Number Four. At my home. Which we both knew meant – intimacy.
Perfume dabbed behind my ears and my knees. New lingerie. The bottle of champagne on ice.
I put on lipstick, then wiped it off, brushed my hair, changed my shoes three times, plumped the cushions, lit the candles, splashed on a little more perfume and sipped some wine while waiting.
The dumplings were in their early stages when he texted me.
‘Ive decided I’m not going to come tonight. And I have to stop mailing you and calling you. You know how much I like you. But my past is difficult and it’s going to get complicated, and I am not ready for complications. Forgive me. I did not mean to hurt you’.
And wasted ingredients.
I’m trying to focus on the dumplings instead of the disappointment, but I’m lying on my bed and clutching my heart. It’s agony, and I’m pretty sure it’s not a heart attack.
It could be indigestion. I’ve just drunk a bottle of champagne, eaten six artichokes and fourteen dumplings, and I’m really hurting. Maybe because they were raw.
I wasn’t in love. But there was the possibility of love, and I put myself out there because of a ‘maybe’. A ‘what if’.
I liked him.
Even with his baggage.
I guess in the end he was honest with me.
I just wish he could’ve been honest before I bought the Chanel No 5, the dresses and the artichokes.
I need to remember that dating, love and relationships are never going to be easy. I need to remember not to get carried away.
I need to keep a close watch on this heart of mine.
It’s sore. And I don’t think it’s from the dumplings.