34 Tales of a Real Life Romance - Chapter 17

Now where were we?

Ah yes. I'd had three dates with the lovely Hands. Date four seemed to be on the cards but there was going to have to be a delay on it as I was heading off to sunnier climes to do a filming job for a few weeks. I suggested that Hands and I meet for a quick drink before I go. He suggested that we didn't bother (or words to that effect.)

Me and thee then analysed what his rejection of my offer meant for the Rapunzel and Hands romance. Some said it didn't mean anything. Some questioned, just as my Bro had previously, whether Hands had a back-bone. Some didn't know what to think. One guy contacted me to say it was clear that I was just desperate for a boyfriend and asked why I was so scared of being alone. Another tweeted to say that my blog looked far too boring for him to waste his time reading, so sadly I'll never know his opinion. (I suppose I should just feel honoured that he took the time out of his busy schedule to let me know that though?!)

As you know, I personally didn't think it was a good sign. I'd only suggested one drink before his night out with the boys, not that he see me instead. I couldn't help but feel rejected that he'd said no. And his excuse that he'd find it hard to say goodbye to me if we met up for half an hour, wasn't holding any sway with me. I mean I like to think that I'm good company but I'm under no illusions that I'm that good!

What could I do about it though? I decided that the best plan of action would be to do absolutely nada. If he wasn't interested, he wasn't interested. I couldn't force him to be! Anyway I had a trip to get organised for.

The day of my flight I got up bright and early to do some last-minute packing. I switched on my phone.

Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!

Seems I'd received a few texts. The first one was just after midnight...

Round at Gav's. Me and the boys have been counting the floors in the Tower. Looks like the lights are out in your apartment! Sleep well x

Stalker! Was my first thought.

My second thought was about the fact that Hands may have chosen not to meet up, yet I was still clearly on his mind...

My third thought was a feeling of smugness about the second thought.

My fourth thought was...eh? Wait a minute! Hands had told me where his friend Gav lives and it overlooks the complete opposite side of my Tower and therefore would be impossible to see my apartment. Even with really powerful binoculars.

The second text had been sent an hour later...

Going to miss you a bit x

The third was sent at 3am...

Good night x

Then another one ten minutes later...

By the way I love your name.

Curiouser and curiouser. What did it all mean? Four texts were a lot of texts to send to someone that you weren't fussed for. Four texts too many, you could argue. Maybe he was keener that I thought? But then they were clearly drunken messages and everyone knows that they don't count. Hmmm.

I continued getting ready and did my best to focus on what bikinis to take rather than the workings of the mind of Hands. While in the taxi on the way to the airport my phone beeped again...

Sorry about the texts. Was on the truth drug. Have a good trip, don't work too hard and make sure you plan in some serious Hands time for when you get back! x

I don't think I'll ever understand men.

35 Tales of a Real Life Romance - Chapter 9

The story so far... I met a lovely boy called Hands. He asked me out. I said yes. He then fannyed around arranging the date. I almost didn't go on the date. I did go on it though and it was great. He asked me on another date. He fannyed around some more. This time I didn't go on the date. He then asked me on an extra-special date. This chapter is about that date. (There is slightly more to it than that so please read from Chapter 1 if you haven't already.)


So six weeks after first going out with Hands, I was about to go on date number two. There had been reasons for the large gap between rendezvous. Mainly cause I'd been working abroad and then Hands had been on a course with work, (advanced hand modelling I presume?) but it was partly down to his dithering straight after our first date. This was all forgiven and forgotten though, because he'd suggested a trip to the theme park Alton Towers for our second meeting. Heck, he'd even taken a day off work.

I knew it had been an inspired idea on his part but just to double check I told everyone I came into contact with about the venue for date two. 'Ooooh that's a great place to go on a date!' is what everyone said. It was official. The boy had done good.

I was ultra excited about the day, except for one thing. I didn't know what to wear. Or to be more specific. I didn't know what to wear on my feet.

It was lovely weather so I'd thought about donning flip-flops, which would go well with the rest of my summery outfit (please remember this date is in the past. I'm not contemplating wearing attire like this in February!) Plus as I normally only wear flip-flops in the sunshine, on holiday or after a pedicure, I associate them with nice things and having a good time. Perfect therefore for my Alton Towers date. Except for one thing. They are flat. And Hands is a big boy.

I mentioned my dilemma to my Bro.

'What height is he?'

'Erm just a wee bit over six foot five...'

'What?! For God sake Sis you can't go out with him!'

'Why not?'

'Cause you're a short ass! Imagine if you ever got married...you'd look like the Krankies in your wedding photos!'

Now I know that it is part of a brothers' job to make you feel crap. No matter how old you both are, he is still required to take the piss. And as insults go, suggesting that Hands and I would resemble a comedy duo made up of a married couple in their 60's, the female of which that dresses up as a school boy, is not one of the worst he's thrown at me. It struck a nerve though. What if we did look ridiculous together? What if Hands hadn't realised I was short and it would only become obvious when people were pointing and laughing at us as we wandering around the park. Even worse, what if without my heels I was too short to get on some of the rides.

I was getting myself a bit worked up so did what any normal person would do in the same situation. I googled images of couples with a big height difference.

Hey presto! After bypassing pics of Sophie Dahl and Jamie Cullum, and Tom Cruise and anyone, I found the sort of thing I was looking for. Hello Dannii Minogue and Kris Smith!

Turns out there is the same amount of inches between them, as there is between me and Hands. And they look fine don't they? I decided we could be the Manchester equivalent. Albeit a less attractive version. I felt much happier. Fan-dabi-dozi!

Date day dawned and Hands picked me up bright and early. I was glad to see that my taste in men hadn't changed in six weeks - I still fancied the arse off him.

We drove towards Alton Towers and the conversation flowed surprisingly well considering we hadn't seen each other for such a long time and actually didn't know each other very well in the first place.

Then something happened...

I started feeling dizzy.

Bugger.

In all the excitement of the 'Oooh what a great place to go on a date,' I'd forgotten that I was waiting for an operation on my sinuses. And that while waiting for this op I was occasionally suffering with symptoms such as dizziness, headaches, face ache, nausea, near black outs etc, etc, etc.

Unfairly it seemed that I was having one of these occasional symptoms then. While on my way to a theme park. A theme park with rides. Probably the worst place I could actually go in my condition.

I felt pretty bloody stupid.

I held off telling Hands but as things hadn't improved as we queued to get in, and I was actually feeling worse, I came clean.

Bless him, he was lovely about it. He was quite hopeful that I'd feel better as the day went on, and for that reason, and also for the fact that he'd bought the tickets weeks before, he reckoned that we should still go in anyway.

So we did. We wandered around for a bit. Enjoying the relative quiet at first and then the almost palpable buzz in the air as the park started filling up. Hands said it was time we started going on some rides.

And so he took me to the ride called Rita. Bloody Rita. Rita with her big list of medical complaints at the entrance and accompanying instructions not to ride Rita if you suffer from any of them. At that time I had most of them.

I just couldn't do it. I suggested Hands ride Rita without me and maybe I'd do the next one. He gave me his stuff to hold, kissed me and off he went.

Brilliant. Not only had I become the 'mum' that looks after all the possessions while the kids go off to play, but I also felt shit. And I was concerned that Hands was going to get the wrong impression about me and think that I was a big, moaning, hypochondriac, fun vacuum that was just going to suck all the fun out of the day.

I felt very sorry for myself. I took out my phone to call a friend to make me feel better.

I had no reception.

I felt even sorrier for myself.

18 Textuality

Beep! Beep!

It was a text from my mum.

Hi luv. Me and your dad have been talking...

Hmm that sounds ominous...

...and we were just wondering...

Maybe not. Probably just want to know how to do something on the computer or ask when I'm going to pay them back the money I owe them.

...are you gay?...

What?!?!

We will still love you no matter what...

Oh well that's aright then! But still, what on earth? Why would they think that?

Ok, I have had my hair cut quite short. And I had been moaning to my mum about a particular guy only a few hours before. It wasn't code for 'I don't like men in general' though. I haven't started dancing on the other side of the ballroom.

There was more...

Also we've decided that your brother is our favourite child x

Ah right.

It was at this point that I knew there was definitely something suspicious going on. There is absolutely no way that they like my brother best. It's me that always calls them and sorts out their birthday presents, not him. Plus I've caused them far less trouble. It wasn't me that was brought home by the police one night because they'd caught me pissing against a wall.

No, something was occurring. I just wasn't sure what. It was actually as if my brother had sent the text from my mum's phone, but as she's in Edinburgh and he's in Southampton I couldn't fathom out how that could have happened.

I phoned my mum. As I waited for her to answer I realised how ridiculous it was going to sound that I was phoning to ask if she'd texted me enquiring whether I'm a lesbian. This resulted in me laughing after saying hi. One of those laughs where no sound comes out so my poor mum thought I was crying.

I finally managed to pull myself together and ask if she had texted me. She hadn't.

Curiouser and curiouser.

"So you don't think I'm a lesbian then?"

"Er, no."

"Good cause I'm not. I need to find out who thinks I am though..." and off I went, leaving my mum to panic about being a victim of identity fraud.

Next call was to my brother. "So how did you do it?"

After ten minutes of him saying he had no idea what I was going on about, and how he was 'far too busy' to be sending texts, I managed to get a confession out of him.

I'm afraid dear reader that I have to inform you that you can no longer believe any text you receive.

Your friend suggests meeting for lunch. Really?

Your local salon confirms your hair appointment. Pfff!

Your boyfriend thinks you should both have an early night. Whatever.

From now on you'll have to take everything with a pinch of salt because the worst phone application ever has been invented. One that lets you type in a 'to' number and a 'from' number and then whatever message you choose and off it pops to the recipient to appear in their inbox...

How evil is that?!

So be warned. I was lucky and there were no real consequences but you might not be so fortunate.

Of course there is the odd occasion when knowing that such an application exists could come in handy. When you wish you weren't the sender of a text.

Like when Taggart sent me a text after her third date with a nice man...

Loved up, loved up, loved up - that's what I am!x

Except she sent it to him instead...

35 Karma Chameleon

If my brother fell in the river, he would come out with salmon in his pocket. And it would probably already be smoked.

Putting it another way, he is a jammy sod.

He says that it is nothing to do with luck, and all about karma. He reckons that the good things that happen to him, are just repayment for the good deeds he has done for others.

That theory is causing him a problem today though, and knowing how wise you lot are, I'm hoping that you can help him...

Once upon a time this morning, The Bro was on the bus travelling to work when he found a mobile phone. A decent, newish phone. The sort you could sell for a few bob on eBay if you were that way inclined.

That didn't even cross The Bro's mind though. Instead, he saw it as his chance to pay off a karmic debt incurred when he lost his camera with all his photos on while travelling in Australia, and some kindly soul had handed it to the police station.

So The Bro sees that the last number dialled on the phone was 'Mum', and calls her to say that he is in possession of her child's property and would like to return it.

Arrangements are made for collection and The Bro continues with his morning, happy that he's finally karma debt-free.

That is until 'Mum' arrives, thanks him for his honesty, hands him an envelope and tells him to have a drink on her and her son.

'Mum' has clearly heard the myth about Scots being big drinkers, because in the envelope was £40. Enough for quite a few drinks.

This is all very nice but has given my brother a bit of a conundrum. Does that mean he is actually still in debt? Should he be passing on the money to keep the good karma flowing? He reckons that it would make a homeless persons day to be handed £40.

I do have slight concerns with this idea though, as just last week my friend gave a homeless man some money. He was so delighted with her generosity that he gave her a hug and in the process got his blood on her top.

Plus, she'd only given him a fiver. I dread to think what my brother might get if he hands over eight times as much.

I'm unsure what to suggest so I'm handing it over to you. Please help Rapunzel's brother with his dilemma.

Should he pass it on? If so to who? Or in what way? Does he do a few good deeds? Pay someone's bus fare? Buy a stranger a coffee? Put it in a charity collection box?

Or does he do exactly as 'Mum' told him and have a drink or few this weekend and feel happy in the knowledge that he's a lucky devil?!