Wow! Ain’t nothing makes you feel a million dollars, like an ex-almost-lover from some years ago, getting in touch out of the blue to suss out the sex sitch. Amaright!? *offers hands up for a double high-five*. I’m right, aren’t I?

Yeeeeaaah, not so much. I know I’ve been oozing positive vibes an’ all that, what with my recently-discovered-inner-peace-slightlyevangelical-meditating-sober-hippyness; but seriously, Universe? I woke up yesterday to a message from French Charles Manson (I have very strange taste), telling me he had woken up thinking about me. I’m going to guess that very same waking-upness was in the bed where he sleeps with his girlfriend, in the beautiful country house they’ve renovated over the last couple of years that I haven’t heard from him. Mate, what is that? We went on a date maybe three years ago: ten minutes of tense shiftiness, coffee, then chatting on WhatsApp, another coffee date and then dinner and an invitation home – where he promptly told me he was freaked out because he was actually living with a girlfriend who he hoped would ‘sense he’d almost been unfaithful and up her game’. Evicted. Sharpish. He was lucky his clothes didn’t go over the balcony. You couldn’t make it up. So what’s with the message yesterday, dude? A feeble attempt at flirtatious chat, gave me the idea that he was on a reconnaissance mission. That being: would I be up for it, as he was domestically bored again.

Two words: F*ck. You.

It’s not the first time it’s happened, either. Last year before I moved, I heard from the sculptor after three years. Fascinating (read eccentric) chap, I thought, ‘hell yeah, why not? It’s been three years, be nice to have a catch up, talk about his art and stuff.’ Two beers later he was offering to walk me home (because he’s like, such a gent and stuff), in the broadest of daylight, so I could ‘show him the flat’. Unless I’m mistaken, I understood this to mean ‘my vagina’…….. This big girl didn’t need escorting anywhere. Or a gynae check. Two days later a 2am message awaited me when I woke up, asking if I preferred to have sex with him or go to the cinema. Umm, if I can be perfectly honest with ya here, Dali – neither. A screenshot of his message, a firm but fair appraisal of his too much smoking, charmless sexual prowess from when we dated when I first arrived in Barcelona, and a threat to send the shot of his message to his girlfriend (the MOTHER OF HIS NEW BABY) if I heard from him again – shut him right down.

Seriously, guys. Take some advice from your Aunty Anne, because as much as she may think you’re mostly a bit shabby, she’d like to help a little. Here’s the thing: pretty much admitting boredom is the reason for your unexpected contact, and laziness to not go out and make any kind of effort in finding a new outlet (as misguided as it is), literally scrolling through your old contacts and eliminating the marrieds/newmothers/emigrateds/deads – yeah that, that’s not cool. At all. Oh, and DON’T DO IT IF YOU’RE IN A RELATIONSHIP. How about you make a little effort to keep the relationship alive? There’s a novel idea. And when I say that – it doesn’t mean by almost having sex in order to float other lady pheromones back into your home to give your partner a kick in the ass.

Surprise her, cook her dinner, buy flowers, fill the flat with candles for when she gets home. Or whatever floats both your boats. (Ponies/diamonds optional depending on budget). Re-seduce her. Maintaining or rekindling relationship passion is not solely down to your other half. And idly scrolling through your ‘little black WhatsApp contacts‘ until you find one you dated twice a gazillion years ago, who is still alive and still single – well, well that’s just plain offensive.

Anne Pank:

Alive – ✓

Single – ✓

Desperate – on your way you ignorant, lazy pig. *smiles, curtsies*

(Oh, and no need to thank me for the advice: you are very welcome.)

AP xx