Suz and me, we’ve had a bit of a rough year. It started when I had a small crush on a guy she was dating, and then would fantasise myself to sleep that they would break up and he and I would begin this hot, secret, steamy and tawdry affair.

Oh, the affair would end, of course. I should say it’s because I subscribe to the ho’s before bro’s theory, but really, it’s because every woman secretly wants their life to be a bit like the pages of a Mills & Boon, have great sex and be empowerd enough to kick the guy to the curb. (And also have pert perky breasts that have nourished children but not suffered such mammary abuse that the owner of said breasts watches documentaries on primitive Amazonian tribeswoman and enviously stares at Amazonian bosoms and wonders if for a nanosecond that the secret to pert breasts is to splice the lower lip with a hole so big it could fit an egg, before realising holes in lips and pertness of breasts have nothing in common.)

I digress.

Suz and I had lunch today, and I sort of gleefully admit that Suz is where I was - relationship-wise - three-years ago, and because I have been a slack non-blogging bitch I shall attempt to give you Cliff Notes to catch you up.

They meet. Instant physical attraction. She likes him, doesn’t like his teeth, likes his hands and suspects he has a big penis. She clues him into the fact that she thinks they could have great sex, he wants to wait until they get to know each other. She asked him what he’s doing next Friday; he has plans. Her internal remote control clicked to the Bullshit Channel and started airing the latest ep on Female Intuition. He’s gone cold. She starts asking questions and demanding to know what’s wrong, because they are obviously rational adults and capable of communicating. Bzzt.  He clams up, doesn’t respond to texts. Upon return says he was on a fishing trip (”Ha! Fishing trip?”, scoffs an unnamed blogger with intimacy issues, “…He was fucking other women!”). A week goes by and she texts him stating they could have had great sex while she was on other lousy dates; he apologizes. She waits another week, repeats the message; he asks her over. They have great sex “although his penis required so much manscaping a woman could have gotten lost”. She emails him the day after and gets no response, because it’s not like he’s going to say, “Thanks, you saved me from scouting for a piece of arse on Missed Connections and having to drive and get it. Have you seen the cost of gas lately?”

Which brings us to present day.  

To be continued…

(PS. I assure you… there is a point to this.)

(PPS. Yes, I’m back.)