So Friday was a let down. The drama really could’ve sizzled more. I mean, there were no punches thrown. Both boys ignored each other. I’m almost disappointed.
The only slightly butterfly-bit was in the beginning. Ex S parked behind me on the road. I got out my car and legged it hammer and tongs to the pub without looking back.
I get a phonecall.
“Grow up (Peas.) What’s the point of coming here if we’re not going to talk?”
Peas: I haven’t come here to talk to you, dickwod, I'm here for Birthday Girl.”
Then we started screaming at each other from across the parking lot. For, oh about 2 minutes, mainly coming from my mouth. In fact, all coming from my mouth. I pulled myself together, after me yelling at him and him walking away as fast as he could.
And that was that - the rest of the night was almost normal.
Small Bum arrived at 11:00pm after work, Ex S didn’t even flinch. I don’t think he even looked. Small Bum, as I thought, talked to everyone, laughed with everyone, but kept a low profile.
I drank lots of tequila.
My friends arrived. That is, the friends I got full-custody of in the divorce, because they were mine to start with.
I managed to behave myself. I didn’t make any drastically loud comments, or strip off on the bar counter, or pour beer down his crotch. In fact, I didn’t even stare too much at Ex S to see who was talking to him.
Perhaps it was because I had someone, and Ex S didn’t.
Because most fundamentally: The Boob wasn’t anywhere to be seen.
Had she been there, and with the amount of tequila fuelled with anger in my system, things would've taken a left turn. But she wasn’t. I presume Ex S did see and observe Small Bum from the other side of the pub, as I got an sms from him at 3:04 am. We left at 1:30am. It simply said: “Thanks for the closure. It really helped.”
We had sex on his flatmate's Louis 14th dining room chair. On his suggestion. Fabulous.
Another fundamental cog of my weekend: I gave up smoking at precisely midnight on Saturday. It has almost been 36 hours. My mouth is dry, there's a funny aftertaste at the back of my throat, I am EXTREMELY cranky (just bit my boss' head off for borrowing my Internet cord.) And I am not loving life in general.
Giving up is extremely overrated. I wouldn't suggest it. But I've gone on now for 36 hours. I'm too far gone to quit quitting.