Pushing The Pirate away

I do this a lot. Push him away. It’s a win:win situation as far as I can see.

If he goes, all of the bad things I have been thinking about him are revealed to be true and I can sit back and smugly go ‘ha! I was right! You ARE a feckless bastard!’

And if he stays, it is evidence that he really loves me*.

But tonight I really got out the big guns: I confessed my love for The X Factor.

Who knew telephone lines could curl their lips up…?

On our first date, I inadvisedly wore Spanx. I wasn’t expecting to have sex, OK? I’m not that kind of girl… You know the ones that go up to your boobs and down to your knees – the really huge ones? Imagine being enthusiastically groped, nay molested, in a car park while wearing said garment. Imagine all of the contorting I had to do to try and keep his hands away from my mid-section, which was mainly just rolled down flesh-coloured power elastic.

And now imagine us on the sofa at my house, frantically snogging, his hand creeping up my skirt towards my knee and – NO! OUT! SPANX! ARGH!

That didn’t push him away.

The emails accusing him of only wanting me for sex and/or my writing abilities didn’t push him away. Nor did the ones accusing him of still looking for other women online. (Yes. I know. I’m mental.)

But The X Factor? Yeah. That might have done it… I’m good at this pushing away thing, oh yes I am.

*He’s seemingly incapable of love, but you know what I mean…



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