Something for the weekend sir?
Here’s one which I’m fairly certain meets all the criteria…I’m just not sure WHO went too far.

When I met the wonder that was to become the future (and current…and, let’s face it, only) Mrs Grimsdale we were both young free and single. I had been in love before but not like this, nothing like this. We always had a very open relationship, told each other everything – as you do, which is how I knew that she had some issues with men [see: running away]. Anyway, I was the perfect man and would live for her and her alone etc. etc.

I won’t go into details (could be useful for another QOTW) but we’d been together about six months, living, travelling etc. rarely if ever apart, very intense and very, very good, when I decided I wanted to see my old best mate who was at Poly in Dudley (this was in the old days when shite unis were called polytechnics). Mrs G stayed behind in our bedsit in West London and I got the bus for Digbeth, where I was met by old mate + new girlfriend.

Time was had, drinks drank, fun had etc. I couldn’t contact Mrs G as mobile phones hadn’t been invented and there was just one payphone in the house we lived in, which didn’t accept in-coming calls. I missed her, and felt less than whole without her, I thought about her a lot and found it very hard to get to sleep at night without her warm and comforting body snuggled next to mine.

So, I’d been there a few days and was due to get the bus the next day. It was very cold and there had been a bit of snow. We were sitting around the table, eating our evening meal before a last visit to the pub when the phone rang; it was Mrs G for me. My heart sang, she must be wanting to confirm which bus I’d be on the next day.

“Hello,” I said,

“I’ve been reading your diaries” she said, “I hate you and I never want to see you again”, and with that, she slammed the phone down.

…….

That was what was going through my mind. Blankness, darkness, my stomach fell through the floor. The rest of that night and the following morning are a blank, all I can remember is the empty, empty pain. I was in shock.

My mate walked me to the bus the next day. The snow had stopped but it was compacted underfoot and difficult to walk on. Did I care? Did I fuck.

I bought some fags, though I’d given up three months before. They helped in the way that only fags can help when there is nothing else you can do. My mate probably talked to me, I don’t know. We got to the bus stop where the National Express would soon take me back to what? God knows….

The bus arrived, I picked up my bags and was about to get on, then commotion, mate’s girlfriend was shouting at me, waving from up the street, running, waving, shouting.

A miracle had happened. Interflora had called, just after we left, with a single red rose and a message: ‘Sorry, please forgive me’.

OK, nice gesture, but she still went too far. Anyway, after reading my diaries, she REALLY knew me, and after getting over it, she still wanted me, and after all that, I still wanted her.

Have a nice weekend folks.
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Fri 10 Nov 2006, 16:30, Reply)