Message from an unknown number. Petbarn must be having another two for one sale on doggy treats or one time, someone asked me to text the word “try” to help them win tickets to the football but as it turned out, it was for a men’s clinic now I’m constantly bombarded with text messages about my premature ejaculation problem.
The text message read: “I need to see you.”
Interesting…Who the fuck is this? In a fit of man hating rage, I’ve deleted a fair few numbers that I deemed absolutely unnecessary to keep in my phone. They’ve been tiny splinters in my mind, driving me insane. But I think both you and I know, there’s really only one person I’m HOPING this is from… I respond… “You disappear without a single word to me and now you’re demanding some time? Just who the fuck do you think you are?” I stare at my phone for what felt like an eleven hour journey in an i20 by yourself driving from Brisbane to Sydney with only two toilet stops and one and a half tanks of fuel (they really are economical).
“Something has happened; I don’t want to explain it to you over text. Can I see you or not?” My heart jumps into my chest. What on Earth could it be? Is he ok? Is he in the country? He’s alive!? What does this mean????? This surge of anxiety floods over my entire body and I’ve realized that I’ve momentarily stopped breathing. I inhale sharply and close my eyes as I mentally prepare to give my response. I picture his face. Those emerald eyes. My fingers are trembling. I text back “yes” and the reply from him is almost instantaneous… “Good. I’m at your front door.” A loud bang at the door has me from sitting to standing in 0.87999 seconds. This. Can’t. be. Happening… I open the door and he’s standing in front me like no time has passed at all. He extends both arms and pulls me toward him. I feel my knees weaken as he kisses me, drawing out my soul, leaving me completely breathless. “Whatever it is… I don’t care…. Just take me to my room Colin Firth!!” NOOOO No wait… I’m talking Colin Firth Pride and Prejudice days not Bridget Jones baby days. Actually, I’ll take Colin Firth in that reindeer jumper. Shut up, THIS IS MY FANTASY!!!
The text was from my GP reminding me about bi-annual pap smear and mammogram because I’m old and shit. Joy.