When my parents suggested the last stop of our road trip be the place where I used to live, I thought to myself it would be a great opportunity to see friends, visit places and just generally catch up. And the thought I might be seeing my ex call-me-in-the-middle-of-the-night, mess-around-with-me, spend-the-night-every-day non-boyfriend didn’t even brush against my innocent, gullible mind.
It’s all a matter of talking myself into believing what I want the truth to be. And I’m usually very successful at that. It’s like when people says calories consumed over the weekends don’t count. Or when a smoker convinces himself that he’s going to smoke just one last cigarette. Only every cigarette is the last one, and the calories will still be there in the morning.
However, in my case I did manage to utterly persuade my spirit I was not interested in a reunion. Which is why on the first day I put on all of my best items of clothing, the amount of make up a circus performer would wear and started wandering around his workplace. And why I wasn’t at all disappointed and frustrated (read ‘I was on the verge of committing a murder’) when I walked past me and pretended not to have seen me. Fat, fluffy-haired jerk (or ‘oh-so-gorgeous, blue-eyed man’, depending on my mood).
It’s not that I expected a film-esque scene in which I would run towards me, arms outstretched and lift me up in a long and passionate kiss. My fantasies may have slightly resembled this kind of encounter, but my realistic idea was that we would exchange some polite conversation and then part peacefully, knowing we both felt very uncomfortable and awkward. So now you see my problem. I am feeling pretty vexed, while he just ignores me? This calls for revenge.
Or should I maybe try to be the bigger person here? And if not, any idea on out to carry out my vendetta? I am open to gruesome and macabre suggestions.
23 Arbury Road 