Utterly failed to keep my dignity
When my first proper g/f unceremoniously dumped me slap bang in the middle of the college smoking area, slap bang in the middle of my exams, I was instantly struck with a major case of "shrivelled ego" and the sense of utter perplexed incredulity which invaded my mind once the initial savagery of the blow that was her declared wish to be single again sank in. Dammit, it had been three months, which was practically a lifetime and although my sense of dignity demanded that I would respond with nonchalant contempt should she ever have a change of heart and attempt to worm her way back into my affections, I did yearn for the opportunity at least.

This opportunity actually presented itself quite soon after the dumping took place, as my pal had arranged a house party in his parents absence. He'd made the fatal mistake of posting flyers all over the college beforehand and naturally one of these fell into the posession of my teutonic ex.

"I'm not going if HE is going!" declared ex with a hint of clipped germanic tones in her voice.

"I'm not going if SHE is going!" declared I, with a shakiness to my voice which betrayed the unholy partnership of sorrow and longing which pierced my very soul upon overhearing the above.

Within sixty seconds of arriving at said party, I was shotgunning cans of lager in the back garden as the thought of bumping into my brand new ex fortified with some (royal) dutch courage in my veins was preferable to stammering a sentance sounding suspiciously like "meh" when I would inevitably bump into her. I mean, what could possibly go wrong? How could her heart not be melted by the very same boyish charms which got me her phone number in the first place?

Oh dear...

For starters, I was not only disgracefully drunk (and also a rank amateur at this new sport), but also overcompensating big time. I decided it would be funny to grab one of the imitation antique firearms from the living room wall, squeeze a stocking over my head and run into the kitchen shouting "this is a raid". Unfortunately, none of the partygoers had a stocking, so I used a condom instead. Not only that, but I had attempted to run through a set of patio doors... You can probably figure the rest out.

"This is a fu... gggghhhnn!"

Once the dizziness and buzzing noise in my head subsided I found myself on my backside with blood dribbling down my nose and bits of shredded latex all around me.

Instead of going home, which was the sensible thing to do, I carried on shotgunning beer (I was probably on my fourth can of 3.2% by now) and soon began to lose my sense of balance, falling down the stairs from the lavatory. Whos ankles break my fall? Yep.

I still recall that look of undisguised distaste with a wince and occasionally manage it myself when I step in something deeply unpleasant. Can't say I blame her really. I think I vaguely remember the somewhat terse use of the word "arsehole" as she damn near goose-stepped over my sprawled frame en route to the ladies powder room.

The irony? Despite my monumental lack of grace, I actually caught the eye of two different lady partygoers who were both being utterly blatant (they admitted as much the following day) but such a display of subtlety had flown clear over my head, which proves that even in the worst of situations, you can always find people with apalling judgement of character.

As for the ex... Well, we never spoke again during two years of college and she eventually emigrated to the fatherland, however eight years later I did run into her in a local bar when she was back for the weekend and she managed a polite smile and a "hello". Strangely, not long after then I bumped her younger brother after a night out who gave me a lift home and said the immortal words "my mum always said you were the nicest guy my sis ever brought home".

I should have stuck with "Meh"
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Tue 9 Jan 2007, 13:27, Reply)