I’m coming to the conclusion that my deeply-held belief that I have horrible luck with men might instead just be a self-fulfilling prophecy.
It’s something I tend to say in rather blasé fashion, with a wave of the hand and a sup of the gin, and it’s always just been how I consider the status quo. Grass is green. Gin is tasty. I have terrible luck with men.
But maybe that’s not how it works.
Maybe it’s rather more hippy-drippy and karmic than that. Maybe it’s only because I believe I have such bad luck that it seems to keep happening.
Hi Blonde, came a text from The Athlete a week or so after his return from Japan. Just wanted to let you know that I had a really great time on our date and it would have been great to see you again but I’ve actually started seeing a girl who was on the trip with us and I wanted to tell you as I don’t like messing girls around. Maybe see you for drinks soon with Old Friend? :)
A chap doing the honourable thing and telling me the score - good news. This is what we’re after. This is also where dating multiple men comes into its own - it’s then far less grievous when one falls off the grid. Off course, his dropping off the grid isn’t ideal, given he was a rather promising candidate. Again Lady Luck seems determined to get her wicked way.
And then, in a case of ‘I really didn’t think this was going to happen again’, I had a call from Game Boy, asking to call it a day as he’s not over the ex. Yup - in case exes hadn’t been quite irritating enough this year, they’re back.
To GB’s credit, this time the situation wasn’t quite the same as the last one - I was fully aware that there was a fairly recent and long-term ex so, although disappointing, it didn’t come as a total surprise.
What most irks me is that it was, in a way, so unsurprising. Because I would rather hope that the chances are small of one guy after another being still attached to the ex, even if that’s not apparently the case, it’s entirely in keeping with my general pattern of luck.
Maybe there’d be a turn-up for the books if I started to tell myself, in true hippy-drippy, and - if I’m honest - totally unlikely fashion, that my track record with men is, in fact, fabulous. Maybe then, my circumstances would change. Maybe I should tell myself that, actually, there have been numerous triumphs. That I’ve dated some successful, wealthy and attractive men.
Actually that last one’s true - it’s just that he happened to be gay.
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