Love's Labours Lost
I met my One True Love on Tuesday night. He introduced himself at the bar. We exchanged some verbal bandiage- my tongue having been honed to a rapier sharp point by the judicious application of a series of double vodkas, splash of cokes to a stomach which had lain empty all day, save for 2 120g packets of Tesco Cranberry and Brie Crisps, and a box of roses.
Anyway. Our paths crossed later in the evening. I asked him what he was drinking. I bought him a drink. He accepted my apology for having bought the wrong drink. I drank the wrong drink for him, as it would have been a shame to let it go to waste. We had had a very interesting conversation, as you might imagine, about the road haulage industry in the Czech Republic.
It was, gentle reader, all very promising.
Alas One True Love's friend had an Emotional Crisis. Generally, there is nothing I like MORE than a good Emotional Crisis. This one, unfortunately, necessitated OTL leaving the George with said friend in order to rally round with tissues*, pats on the back, and so forth.
It struck me then, how like unto a kleenex was OTL, strong yet soft with a soothing layer of aloe vera to soothe chafed noses. This, verily, was my One True Love, but then he exited (followed by a bear his friend.)
When a deep tragedy such as this strikes a person, it is hard to see the way out. I mean, it is not every day that one loses one's One True Love. It was difficult, but inspired by the story of Rose in Titanic- which I had watched with my mother earlier in the day- I resolved to blow that whistle- metaphorically speaking of course. Reader, I chose to live.
Fortunately, I was able to console myself in the arms of a not-unattractive young gentleman whose eye had caught mine a little earlier in the evening. Witty, yes, cute, yes, posessed of a strapping pair of shoulders, yes, but One True Love, no.
Still, one must take comfort where one can, I thought, as I extricated myself momentarily from his embrace in order to wet the back of my throat with a small refreshing caffeinated beverage. But who should I spy, dishevelled like, coming up the stairs, but One True Love!
"You came back!" I cried, with a great deal of emotion.
"Nine euros!**" he said, "it'd better be worth it..." with what I hoped was a lascivious leer.
nine euros, in an attractive box-set (google image search pulled a blank on 'lascivious leer')
Well, what was a boy to do? There are Rules, you know, even when one's One True Love is concerned. And there can be no derogations. I leant in momentarily, but then I thought of the as-yet unwritten first chapter of my phD. This situation, like so many, was analgous to the use of torture in wartime.
You might think that a given situation, being critical, warrants the use of torture. Just a little, of course, in order to find out where the ticking nuclear bomb is and thus prevent the death of millions of innocent civilians and the outbreak of a war which wil lead, ultimately, to the destruction of all humanity, the end of the world and the creation of a super-race of fiendishly evil cyborgs who will enslave the universe.
But what, on the other hand, if there is no nuclear bomb? Or there are no WMD? Or if it isn't your One True Love? You will have set a dangerous precedent, n'est-ce-pas?
And I find that sometimes one thinks one has found one's One True Love only to discover, in a few months time, when they grow some horrendous sideburns for a critically-acclaimed film role, that Jake Gyllenhaal actually wasn't, in fact, the one.
You will be glad to hear, gentle reader/s, that there was no breach of the Geneva Convention rules of nighclub engagement. No Siree, I did not kiss a second boy while the first boy was still in the room. I went home with not-unattractive boy#2. One True Love disappeared into the night.
But as I sit here in the chilly post-yule, it seems cold comfort that I was true to my honour. I will probably never see OTL again. Have I squandered my one chance for a happy and fulfilling future? Did I do the right thing? Will my heart go on?
Ah, these questions, and many more, have been spiralling through my brain ever after in a seething maelstrom of emotions.
The chances of ever seeing One True Love again or bumbing into him in a random pub are minimal. I mean, I go out hardly at all. Twice or three times a week only.
What if I die in the next week? Or he does? What if my acknowledgedly poor memory for faces and names mean I fail to recognize him next time I see him? What if he gets a face transplant? What if he moves, abruptly, to Turkmenistan to take up an exciting newly vacated position? The potential obstacles are many.
It's tough upholding one's principles in this brave new world.
This piece of rubbish was brought to you thanks to a very slow morning in work.
*for the tears, silly.
**I thought best not to tell him that he could have gotten a pass-out
Anyway. Our paths crossed later in the evening. I asked him what he was drinking. I bought him a drink. He accepted my apology for having bought the wrong drink. I drank the wrong drink for him, as it would have been a shame to let it go to waste. We had had a very interesting conversation, as you might imagine, about the road haulage industry in the Czech Republic.
It was, gentle reader, all very promising.
Alas One True Love's friend had an Emotional Crisis. Generally, there is nothing I like MORE than a good Emotional Crisis. This one, unfortunately, necessitated OTL leaving the George with said friend in order to rally round with tissues*, pats on the back, and so forth.
It struck me then, how like unto a kleenex was OTL, strong yet soft with a soothing layer of aloe vera to soothe chafed noses. This, verily, was my One True Love, but then he exited (followed by a bear his friend.)
When a deep tragedy such as this strikes a person, it is hard to see the way out. I mean, it is not every day that one loses one's One True Love. It was difficult, but inspired by the story of Rose in Titanic- which I had watched with my mother earlier in the day- I resolved to blow that whistle- metaphorically speaking of course. Reader, I chose to live.
Fortunately, I was able to console myself in the arms of a not-unattractive young gentleman whose eye had caught mine a little earlier in the evening. Witty, yes, cute, yes, posessed of a strapping pair of shoulders, yes, but One True Love, no.
Still, one must take comfort where one can, I thought, as I extricated myself momentarily from his embrace in order to wet the back of my throat with a small refreshing caffeinated beverage. But who should I spy, dishevelled like, coming up the stairs, but One True Love!
"You came back!" I cried, with a great deal of emotion.
"Nine euros!**" he said, "it'd better be worth it..." with what I hoped was a lascivious leer.
nine euros, in an attractive box-set (google image search pulled a blank on 'lascivious leer')
Well, what was a boy to do? There are Rules, you know, even when one's One True Love is concerned. And there can be no derogations. I leant in momentarily, but then I thought of the as-yet unwritten first chapter of my phD. This situation, like so many, was analgous to the use of torture in wartime.
You might think that a given situation, being critical, warrants the use of torture. Just a little, of course, in order to find out where the ticking nuclear bomb is and thus prevent the death of millions of innocent civilians and the outbreak of a war which wil lead, ultimately, to the destruction of all humanity, the end of the world and the creation of a super-race of fiendishly evil cyborgs who will enslave the universe.
But what, on the other hand, if there is no nuclear bomb? Or there are no WMD? Or if it isn't your One True Love? You will have set a dangerous precedent, n'est-ce-pas?
And I find that sometimes one thinks one has found one's One True Love only to discover, in a few months time, when they grow some horrendous sideburns for a critically-acclaimed film role, that Jake Gyllenhaal actually wasn't, in fact, the one.
You will be glad to hear, gentle reader/s, that there was no breach of the Geneva Convention rules of nighclub engagement. No Siree, I did not kiss a second boy while the first boy was still in the room. I went home with not-unattractive boy#2. One True Love disappeared into the night.
But as I sit here in the chilly post-yule, it seems cold comfort that I was true to my honour. I will probably never see OTL again. Have I squandered my one chance for a happy and fulfilling future? Did I do the right thing? Will my heart go on?
Ah, these questions, and many more, have been spiralling through my brain ever after in a seething maelstrom of emotions.
The chances of ever seeing One True Love again or bumbing into him in a random pub are minimal. I mean, I go out hardly at all. Twice or three times a week only.
What if I die in the next week? Or he does? What if my acknowledgedly poor memory for faces and names mean I fail to recognize him next time I see him? What if he gets a face transplant? What if he moves, abruptly, to Turkmenistan to take up an exciting newly vacated position? The potential obstacles are many.
It's tough upholding one's principles in this brave new world.
This piece of rubbish was brought to you thanks to a very slow morning in work.
*for the tears, silly.
**I thought best not to tell him that he could have gotten a pass-out