that on the six(teen)th hour of the sixth day of the sixth month (after the break up) the ex, who we will refer to here as TT -Twinkle Toes/Temper Tantrum/Silly T*t – artistic license – hath finally seen the error of his fool-hardy ways. They being unceremoniously dumping me by email in July of last year and replacing me swiftly with a younger, taller, slimmer model. When I say swiftly, I really do mean S.W.I.F.T.L.Y. Clocked within three days, hooked up within two weeks. When I say younger, maybe a year. When I say slimmer, weeeel, meh. Ok, she’s taller than me, that’s it. But anyway, pride dented? I’ll say. But now, as Mrs L put it, I’m being wooed, wooed good and proper. Get me, I live at Downton Abbey.
Messages were exchanged over Christmas, apologies were uttered and ‘te quieros’ written…. I took receipt of a dazzling pair of tango shoes on my return to BCN, lunch followed and this week a delivery of red roses……
I have to shamelessly admit, I’m really rather enjoying the wooing process!! (read, gifts), it’s a first. We’re friends, that’s good (I explained before, I’m always pretty laid-back about these things, life’s too short), but I am impishly intrigued to see what happens next……. I give it 10 more days before boredom sets in, as no resolution is in sight and all woo-age stops as abruptly as it started – shortly after the new bird dumped him.
Place your bets.