I’m A Bit Angry

I’m A Bit Angry

I’m a bit angry. I met a brilliant man and he turned out to be a massive fucking let-down.



Canada and I (I refer to my love interests by their country of origin, don’t hate) only had two dates, but the first one lasted 17 hours, so really we had about five dates. His aforementioned brilliance got under my skin in a way that doesn’t happen that often. I quickly developed the dreaded feels, eugh.

Our first date was a party at his house with some of his friends (I took one of mine along for moral support), and I was instantly hooked. Dude was gorgeous. Like, model gorgeous. And, more importantly, he was so nice. Like, he acted as though I was the only person in the room. The hours drifted away and before we knew it, it was 9 am and we were still up talking and drinking and having one of those nights that you never really forget. I left his place on Saturday at 5 pm because I had a work deadline, then we hung out again the next day OMG it was so great.

Canada asked me a few times about whether our date would end up in my blog, and I knew it would because everything ends up in here (be warned). He joked about making our time together weird so I’d have something to write about, and each time I laughed while secretly hoping that nothing bad would happen; that I’d be without a blog post but with an excellent man to make out with (even if it was just for a couple of weeks before we both headed to our next destinations).

But of course, that didn’t happen…

Everything went tits up, obviously, and I got a bit ‘in my head’ about the whole thing.

You know that scene in Bridget Jones’ Diary where she’s in her flat boshing wine and singing ‘All by Myself’? That was me, only with added sweating because it’s so bloody hot in Mexico.

Bridget Jones Diary

You see, a truly terrible series of events was set into motion after date two:

  • He made a last-minute decision to move to Australia for his business.
  • He only had a week left in Mexico.
  • He had a lot of work to do before he left so didn’t have much free time.

That chain of events meant that we never saw each other again. He kept me hanging for a full seven days, promising more brilliant dates before he left. I’m kind of ashamed to admit that I stayed home more than once waiting for him to call (which he never did).

I lost track of the number of times I checked my phone to see when he was last online. As every hour passed and those blue ticks went unactioned, I retreated further into my lady-brain and did as so many of us chicas do: I blamed myself for his semi-shitty behaviour.

For the love of God, what did I do wrong?

I asked myself over and over what I did wrong. I never once paused to consider that I might have, in fact, done nothing wrong.

I mean, was he disgusted by how much I was sweating from the walk to our second date? Could he tell that I was struggling to keep up my half of the super-deep conversations we were having? Is my comparative lack of ambition unappealing? Is it a problem to him that I defo couldn’t be a model?

Why couldn’t I just have had this simple thought process: he was busy, I was new in his life and therefore not that important to him, and that’s fine because it doesn’t in any way reflect on me as a person. Why, instead, did I put his lack of communication on my shoulders, instead of on his where it absolutely belonged?

Can you sue someone for being the reason you almost got gout from a week-long sadness-induced wine binge? I’m asking for a friend.

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