And so, it came to pass

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.

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Gratefully received

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.

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