I wish I could keep my mouth shut. I really do. Not only that, I wish I could NOT write the things that I do. But it’s impossible.
And here is one more example of things that I wish I could NOT write.
My last missive was concerning a gentleman friend, who’d committed several crimes against brushes, and generally pissed me off, though not to the point where I’d banished him to the ‘ex’ friends heap as he continues to give me plenty of ‘content’ with which to create witty and amusing missives for your (possible) entertainment.
Don’t get me wrong. He’s a nice man, a very very nice man. But bloody hell is he boring. He’s turned 65, and though I will never meet her, as she’s currently propping up a very new and shiny headstone in Highgate Cemetery, I think he’s turning into his Mother, which brings me nicely to the reason for my story.
To set the scene, I hadn’t seen the GF (gentleman friend) since December 30th, as he’d then returned to his ‘place in the sun’ and gone back to Spain, where I’d originally met him early last year.
But last week he was back in Essex and we met up for an early doors meal at a local pub. This had taken several emails to arrange and I’d lost the will to live over trying to find somewhere to go. But in a last ditch attempt, I sent him a link to a nice gastro pub, along with directions, menu and the phone number. I think I’ve said before, this is a man who starts many sentences with the words ‘I’m not tight………but’.
The fact is, he IS tight, so I knew my suggestion of a steak meal would rattle his coins, and bring him out in a rash. I thought the steak meal might get downgraded somehow, but oh how I laughed to myself when he responded, ‘we could always just get a take-way and eat it up my sons flat’. Did I mention before, that this is the bloke who has won the lottery. Twice. Yes, I did. I remember.
I couldn’t bring myself to even respond to this suggestion, so I totally ignored it, and booked a table at a place where we’d been before. Even the first-time round, I’d detected a look of horror pass across his face when he’d seen the price of just the fish and chips!
After the niceties were over and I was settled with a large glass of red, we caught up with each other’s news, as you do. He was overly excited about a headstone he was arranging for his Mum’s grave, which is a lovely gesture, thought possibly a little after the event as his Mum’s been dead for over 20 years.
But what sent me into a fit of those inward laughs you just cannot supress was his description of what wording was going on this shiny black, gold flecked, very expensive creation which his two sons and daughter, were all ‘involved in choosing’. I can think of many things, that are marginally more exciting for the average 35-year-old, than choosing a headstone for your long dead Nan.
The GF relayed to me about 10 different quotations which had been considered, like ‘gone but not forgotten’ ish. He slowly and carefully said them all out loud in a suitably measured and serious tone, that took fuckingforever. It went on and on and on, ‘Always in our hearts………Till we meet again…Love and miss you’…on and on he droned, till I couldn’t stop myself and I said,
‘Jesus Christ, you are even boring me to death with this story’.
I won’t lie, I did that thing when you laugh too much to over compensate and act like you meant it as a joke when you are really deadly serious. (see what I did there?!)
Why do men do that. Take for bloody ever to tell a story, that a female can tell with half the words in half the time. I just don’t get it, and I just can’t be polite and keep quiet. Every time I meet up with this very nice man, and he hits me with a very L O N G story, I want to just hit his fast forward button.
Sadly, he’s permanently stuck on extended play……