To all my exes: Ya, I’m really OK…

cakes

Egad! The likeness is uncanny! 

Today was another day that I just happened to find myself one year older, I didn't share that with many people unless you count the involentary notice that went out to my 230 Facebook friends. Incidentally, Italians have no qualms about asking you how old you are within the first  60 seconds of meeting you. There upon pausing momentarily giving you the twice over while they think of something complimentary yet obtrusively false to say, ie. "Oh but you look so young, I never would have guessed!" which would be placed post or pre -"you look so beautiful, and have you lost weight? They are so transparent and blatantly superficial. Everytime I hear this I almost dare to ask: "No, why? Was I fat before?" Jerk.

This morning barely out of my slumber I heard an incoming text message notice on my cel. As I reached over while wiping the night's accumulated crud from my eyes and focused on the display, I saw it was from Cristian. I wondered whether or not I'd hear from him, as I blew off his last 3 calls over a month ago - I was still miffed about not meeting him in Pescara last August, and him forgetting/ignoring my dinner invite last month.

"I am not sure if you are still sleeping..."

(Once again, here goes my analysis of eveything to a pulp: What is that supposed to mean? And what if I was? what of it? Would you take your car and drive 4 hours with your fine white cotton pj's with blue pinstripe,  bring me a cappuccino, leave it on my night stand, and crawl into my bed and spoon me, while you twirl your fingers through my hair, then brush it off to the side to kiss the back of my neck? Then as I slowly turn around I see you smiling, your dark eyes from under pony eyelashes, I run my finger and trace the outline of your bottom lip and I say, I have been waiting for this moment since we met... Yikes, I really have to stop this.)

"However, good day and above all Happy Birthday! How old are you now? It's not important! You are always splendid, have a great day!"

Shit.  This man turns me to liquid. Every f'cking time.

Wake up Cakes, surrender the fantasy.

Later in the afternoon I scanned through my Hotmail inbox to find a message from HIM, The Englishman:

"Hi I hope you are OK."

(Another time? Did I not say I was "GREAT" a few days ago? What am I - a train wreck waiting to happen?)

"How are you getting on with the book?" ...Bla bla bla my work, bla bla bla my house... "I really hope you have/are having a great day. Very best wishes."

I'm not sure why he bothers being nice. Perhaps it makes him feel like a warm-blooded human being with a mere pulse, as opposed to a frozen cod. All the difference it makes now. I don't consider us friends as he never liked me well enough to freely and unselfishly offer me the last banana, and my heart is burger thanks to him. I don't know why he doesn't go back to England and find himself a sausage bride to pick on. I just read an article that the women there are the fattest in Europe.  It's probably not their fault, their husbands or boyfriends probably drive them to binge. I can relate.

So you all who are reading this... if we ever had a coffee or meal together, had a one-nighter, made-out in a parked car, dated regularly, or were seriously involved - TAKE HEED:

I AM JUST FINE.

 

 

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