The drama continues. In a strange and coincidental twist of hypocritical bigotry, it would appear that my ex S has found himself a squeeze to latch himself onto.
While I suffered guilt and pain on his behalf, after him indulging in the ludicrous details of my sex life on this blog, he has shacked up with a close and common acquaintance of ours. Believe it. Because it’s true.
I’ve holidayed with this bitch, I love(d) and know her parents, and she knows our history oh too well. Her father painted us a picture of a scene from our loved-up Thailand holiday for God’s sake, and until Friday evening, this was hanging in my bedroom. And it would seem that this matters not.
He’s fucking my friend.
Regrettably, I have no inclination to find out how long this has been going on for, but I’ve always been suspicious. Something I couldn’t put my finger on. Chemistry, perhaps. And now those previously paranoid suspicions have come to the fore. Lesson here: if you’re suspicious someone is lying to you/is cheating on you, you are probably right.
He doesn’t know Small Bum. At least that much is gratifying for the little fucker.
It hit me like a ten tonne train, I’m angry. Very very angry. But also relieved. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve been a nice ex girlfriend. I am dating outside of our regular friendship circle, I’ve kept in touch and I’ve tried to protect him.
So in order to stop the madness, my mates, Small Bum and I went to a party organised by a friend of mine in town on Friday.
It was lovely – set in a warehouse at the dingy end of Selby, complete with drag queens, 50s-style furniture and jumping castles.
I popped the bloody thing in my spike heels. My bad. But it was a slow puncture, so nobody arrested me.
Then just as I was half-undressed, ready to go about my bathing ablutions on Saturday night, the shower exploded in my face. And flooded the bathroom. The pipe burst in a gunshot loud pop.
After getting back from a tango dancing play with my parents and half-showered, I went to a family reunion dinner at Small Bum’s house, and got shitfaced with his immediate relatives. His are a conservative bunch, so generally I won’t have more than one glass of wine there. But give them a bottle or two of wine, and this all changes. We spoke about penis enlargements, Viagra and mine and Small Bum’s Valentine’s splash in the family hot tub. It was good.
I had sex four times this weekend. Guilt-free.