Tag: divorce

Men, goddamit

Yesterday I was at my local cafe, sipping lemonade, reading a book and twirling the daisy I’d placed behind my ear.

A man with a great haircut and wearing a good linen shirt sat nearby. He had a book too.

He kept looking my way, clearly keen to strike up a conversation.

Picking a flower from the vase on his table he walked over and handed it to me.

‘For the other ear,’ he said.

Why thank you.

I indicated for him to sit down.  I liked his looks. I liked that he was a reader.

‘You’re alone,’ he asked. ‘Why?’

Hey, why not.  It’s a beautiful evening and it’s just too hot to be inside.  Besides, I like it here.

He was okay with that. He was on his own too.

‘Divorced?’ he asked.

Yip. For a few years now.

He shook his head.

‘How could a man, any man walk out on you?’

A bit presumptuous, I thought.

He didn’t.

‘Oh. I’m so sorry. What happened. Did he die?’

No. No.  Not that.

‘What then?’

I left him.

Silence.

Dead, deathly silence. And then:-

He took back his flower. Downed his drink. Downed mine too.  Started sweating.

And spluttered.

‘Oh okay, right, get back to your book, sorry I disturbed you, there’s my friend, I gotta go.’

He tripped over the chair in his haste to get out.

Men, goddamit.

It’s okay for them to leave us. It’s never okay the other way round.

Chance meetings

This morning I bumped into a guy. Okay, I didn’t really bump into him. I was sitting in a coffee shop, he walked in and across the cappuccinos he yelled:-

‘VIOLET, VIOLET.’

So much for a pseudonym.

He’s eccentric.  He was wearing a bright yellow t-shirt, weird sunglasses and hadn’t shaved.

We hugged hello even though I had no idea who he was.

I loved the brush of his stubble against my cheek.

Before anything he told me he hates dogs, is clinically depressed, anti-social, twice divorced and has the second lowest libido in town.

It made me curious as to who has the lowest libido in town, but I realise I don’t care. I’ve never been competitive.

I hope this guy ditches the t-shirt.  Gets a new pair of shorts. Maybe brushes his hair.

But I also hope he calls me.

For some odd reason, I am madly wildly attracted to him.

stubble

Single and drinking.

My husband had moved out, my dating life was a disaster, I had no money, and as all newly single people do, I began to drink.

 I had never been a big drinker before, but I started having a whisky (or two) every night.  

It felt good. Me: a woman, on my own, strong, independent, age 50 drinking single malt.

Whisky does things to you that nothing else can. It warms the chest. It makes you feel okay for dumping someone. It increases your libido. 

It makes everything glow. And glisten. I liked it, a lot.

I drank too much.

I drank too much when I thought about what I had done to my ex-husband.

 I drank too much when I thought about that fat ex-friend who had been so nasty to me.

 I drank far too much when I thought about the lover that I really wanted that I knew I would never have.

 And then I drank so much, I noticed I had put on 4 kilos.

And so I stopped. I did not want to be FAT.  

I could be anything. I could be a terrible mother, a dumper of husbands, a home wrecker, a cyber-sexer, a whore. I could even be an alcoholic.

 But I could not be fat. 

I loved my whisky. It had made me feel good.  

I thought about options. 

Cocaine could work, but it’s far too expensive.

 Bath Salts apparently brilliant, but I didn’t really want to eat someone’s face.

 Meditation. Boring.

 Masturbation?

Masturbation.

Of course.

So instead of drinking, I masturbated. It was a hellova lot cheaper. Great exercise. Good cardio.

 And I never woke up with a headache.

Advice to newly single people

The first year sucks, no matter who has done the leaving. 

Drink, definitely, but not too much.

 Date, definitely, but not too much.

Do not drink and date at the same time.

Do not get fat. Never get fat.

 Try therapy.

 Only buy single malt. 

Masturbate.

 And above all, keep your sense of humour.

whisky