“Typical”, I hear you say. “A girl moaning about guys, like we haven’t heard this one before.” I’m afraid that yes, it is all very predictable, but something I have been dying to get off my chest nevertheless.
The latest unfathomable creature to, as my Irish friend Jenny would say, ‘melt my head’, is ridiculously gorgeous.
Unfortunately, however, he is also ridiculously inept in the social skills department.
We have been on and off for a while and quite frankly, I give up. He refuses to communicate through what he calls ‘cyberspace’, failing to understand why I take this to offence.
Naturally, I feel like he is ignoring me and that not being a ‘texty person’ is code for “I’m not really that bothered about you.” Yet apparently, I am expected to gather that he does in fact like me.
As well as not speaking to me for days on end, he is unable to show me any affection in front of our friends, generally finding it difficult to do so unless he has consumed a fair amount of rum.
At first I quite liked the fact that he was shy and wanted to keep everything private. I was patient, really patient. Now I just want to strangle him. Or cry. Or both.
Of course the usual cure would be a night out with the girls. However, here I am faced with a slight problem – the problem being that every single one of them is loved up, with the exception of my two best friends from home. Unfortunately, they live in the faraway lands of Plymouth and Cardiff and so I am forced to wallow in self-pity.
If I actually meet someone decent before I am ninety, it will be a miracle! Rant over.
Tags: Dana Fowles
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