More of the meltylovestuff

31st May 2014

Frantically trying to plant the pretties that I’d purchased at the garden center before the rain sets in. It had been a  lovely day, relaxed and peaceful, the type of Saturday’s that I had come to get used to of late. I’d been in my new flat for nearly two months, and with Spring on the horizon I had been itching to get out into the garden and get to work. I sit on the patio, and survey my quaint little garden. She’s a darn sight prettier than my nails, I suddenly remember that I’ve missed another nail appointment.

I begin clearing the patio of empty plant pots, again looking down at my mud encrusted nails, I really should have put the nail appointment in my diary. With the summertime tunes humming out of the radio I realise that I’ve missed a call from the girls and there’s a text too.

Hey, we’re meeting in the pub at 7:30 to watch the boxing, not sure if you wanted to join us x

The message was sent over an hour ago. If I’m going to make it I’m going to have to get a wriggle on. I’m not sure I can be bothered, plus, look at the state of my nails!

Hey, yeah I will come along if that’s ok, gonna be late tho, can you meet me outside if I text? Be about 40 mins x

Showering and getting ready quickly, I put my new black shirt dress on and trusty Kurt Geiger’s. I shove the contents of my life into my bag and with a quick squirt of good old Jimmy Choo I give myself a quick once over in the mirror, “I’ll do, I’ll have to!” and I run out of the house, feeling somewhat only half-dressed due to the rush I’ve got ready in.

Stopping to get petrol at the garage I reach for my purse. The panic sets in, where is my purse? I check my bag and the car three times at least, like a woman possessed, my arse is probably on show to the whole forecourt, trying to hold dress down and shoving seats up I give the boot a thorough once over. Nothing. Turning the car around and driving home I’m now mentally tracing my footsteps back throughout the day.

Once home I check the usual places, but still no sign of the purse, I pause and look outside into the garden at the rubbish bag. Could my purse be in the rubbish bag? No, I’m ready to go out. No. But I don’t have time to ponder this thought. I grab my marigolds and launch myself into tearing through the contents of my bin bag looking for the bloody purse. This has got to be a fucking joke, I’m totally reeady to go out and now I’m sifting through the contents of a bin bag. I reach the bottom of the bag … Nothing, nada, whatever, but no purse. I am in shit!

I sit on my bed, marigolds still on, with my new dress and KG’s, crap, I have no cash on me, what am I gonna do. In a last chance I get back in the car and go back to the garage. I’d been there earlier in the day, maybe I left it there. Thankfully I remember to remove the bin-bag-marigolds just as I’m about to close the front door. Wouldn’t have been a good look, but would have disguised my rather ill manicured nails.

I’m really late now, soon there won’t be any point in going out at all, it’s approaching 9pm. I run past a que of people at the garage and arrive at the till red and a bit puzzled. The mystery is solved, I very nearly lean in and kiss the face of the garage assistant. Turns out I left it there on the counter earlier in the day. Wine and I shall indeed meet, very shortly.

I reach the pub minutes later, but soon realise the world, it’s wife, it’s mother and possibly its neighbours are out tonight and consequently there isn’t anywhere to park. Tonight is fast turning into one of those nights we all look back on and say “the signs were there, why did I leave the house”. I wonder if the rest of the night is going to follow suit. I hope not.

Locating a space that perhaps one of those child bubble car thingy’s would struggle to fit into, I try to squeeze my brand new car into it, careful not to scratch it on the pristine SLK in front of me. I stall the car three times reversing up hill into the space, I block the road, ensuring a que of other inpatient parkers are now watching me, I’m now hot, flustered, and a little on the “look at me and I will kill you” end of the spectrum. I need wine, and a cigarette and perhaps a little more wine. Locking the car I remember that the boxing is on, which is great, not because I’m a fan, but it means my boxing fanatic friend will not wish to engage in conversation and the other knows me well enough to recognise that I will need a wine or two before that chatting can commence. This is not something that I usually wish for, I love our girlie chats, but tonight I don’t want to talk, I don’t think I can, I’m so stressed out !

Be outside in two, please say you’ll meet me outside lol x

She meets me outside with a welcome hug and smile, I’m extremely pleased to see her friendly face. I don’t even bother to attempt to recall my journey here, I’m just glad I’m out and now I need a pint of wine!

The bar is buzzing, packed wall to wall with the entire town it would seem. I’m really grateful that my trusty friend came to meet me outside. The thought of inching my way through the crowds, trying to locate my friends, trying carefully not to barge anyone or step on anyones toes, nope, I’m not someone who is comfortable with walking into places alone, especially ones rammed to the rafters with beer swilling guys.

Our other friend has camped out and secured a spot in the bar that is in a close proximity of the bar and the screen. Her eyes are fixed on the large screen, and she barely notices that I’m even there as she is so engrossed in the fight. I lean in and plant a kiss on her cheek and give her a hug. I still don’t want to talk and I mutter something about the journey from hell and with wine still being firmly on the agenda I ask if they would like anything to drink and head to the bar.

I order the largest glass of Rose that they sell and begin squeezing in and out of people’s way to get back to our spot, and that is when it happened. I put my bag on the ledge and began to take a large gulp of wine, mid gulp I notice him. Something inside my stomach flips. His eyes are smiling and he’s looking at me, at least I think he is, I gingerly check around me to just check that he’s not smiling at anyone else. That would be embarrassing, I think to myself.

Nope, it would seem he is in fact smiling and looking at me. Shit. I can’t take my eyes off of him. I look away, totally aware that my cheeks are red and hot, I can literally feel the blood burning through their skin. Another large gulp of wine. He takes a step towards me. Shit.

“Hi, I love your hair!” … was all it took. He smiled at me, I looked down embarrassed and unsure of what to say in response. As I glance up at him through my eyelashes it is almost as if I know from that very moment that I would never be the same again.

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