…marinara
So the weekend gone and the one before I have spent on a small boat type thing in the south of England. D&G brought the thing with his inheritance, which it turns out was not insubstantial based upon the prettiness of it. He is in fact almost entirely self-sufficient due to a wealthy relative back home who is happy to fund D&Gs whims since he is dead and can hardly argue about it. At lease D&G works hard too - I can’t bear those rich types that believe money equates to laziness. D&G wasn’t allowed access to his trust fund until after he got his first legitimate pay check. Hence I discover the ‘clowning’ was something he did to fund himself through school back on the ranch, so to speak, he keeps it up it turns out because he likes it, not for the money.
Like list 1) clearly cool with masses of screaming children. don’t think this can be deemed a bad thing.
But it turns out I am useless on the water and have suffered from an embarrassing bout of sea-sickness (throwing up into a sink is really not attractive on first or second date territory, but he was nice enough to be okay with it) both times we went out on the water. We therefore stayed moored up in the marina 90% of the time. I wasn’t going to complain: good wine; the great outdoors, and an incident that due to some rather aggressive love-making led me to hit my head on the roof of the boat (as they say in ‘rom coms’, “Hilarity ensued”) meant that I was very happy, if bruised, for that particular 90% of the time last weekend.
However (isn’t there always an ‘however’) not so much ‘happy’ this long weekend. Though the weather was hot and the company hotter, the water cool and rose cooler; the only difference between this and last weekend is that I was stupid enough to take my cell with me: and rendering only 30% of my time - until I checked my messages - anything like positive. Because we remained inland I still got reception this weekend, and unlike the seven days previously I began to receive contact from the now estranged Mr Right.
The first SMS was at 9am on Saturday, after a week of radio-silence.
MR 9.01 am
“I am sorry.”
Of course I didn’t receive this message, having at the time both hands upon the undercarriage of a professional clown it was difficult to check my messages. And the device was on vibrate.
MR 9.15 am
“I am really sorry.”
I would have been fretting had I not been, at that point in time nursing a small head wound.
MR 10.03 am
“I miss you, where are you?”
Now I was panicking because I had received the texts while D&G went to get ice. I shouldn’t have checked my cell. MR had called the weekend before while I was away, not texted, not left me a message, but called, about ten times. And I hadn’t called back. I couldn’t. What would i have said? I was so angry still, so heartbroken, so confused, so very happily smiling and waving knowingly at D&G as he breezed past me at work…that smell, and the mental images that now go with it are enough of a distraction for my loins let alone my mind.
There are more messages along those lines but the two that are important are these.
The first of only two responses:
Missy Monday 12.25pm
“You’re sorry for what exactly?”
MR Monday 12:29pm
“Fighting. It was stupid. Can I come over & see you tonight? We need to talk about it. I miss you.”
NOT SORRY FOR SCREWING CLAIRE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Missy Monday 13.00pm
“Fail.”
Still not sure if that was the right response. D&G and I used the ice in an impromtu batch of Mojitos.
But I’m still looking at my cell every 10 minutes. Nothing has been sent in return.
