I’ve been holding a candle for a man named Joe for about two years and last week he announced totally out of the blue that he’d broken off his engagement and wanted to see me for a drink on Friday night. I hardly dared imagine that it might be a date and just assumed that as usual he would counsel me on my turbulent lovelife. After many dirty martinis at the Hungry Bear we ended up in bed.
After a night of much passion he left in the morning telling me once more how “hot” I was and saying he’d phone me later “just to say hi”. As Rosalind would say, “manners!” She said that he has always been her favourite (even though she has never met him) as he has always been a shining example of a man who is emotionally intelligent and nice to women.
But what does “later” mean? I behaved like Briget Jones all day yesterday and most of today waiting for a call and there has been tumbleweed. I decided that I was only going to think about it until noon then go out for a “meat cure” and when my expensive Sunday roast turned up and it was cold I CRIED. Right in the middle of the pub. Oh for goodness sake.
So now I am settled in for the afternoon to watch Gone With the Wind with a few beers and then later if I can drag myself out of the funk I will cook Joan Blondell’s Sunday Night Special.
I do NOT understand. Perhaps I should just turn myself into a HORNET like Scarlett O’Hara.
Ooh, there he is. Clark Gable at the bottom of the stairs. That’s cheered me up.
