Dinner With A Ghost

Hello!

Driving down a road that looked familiar, I soon realised it was the old route I used to take to my High School. I was in a small Ford KA and was with my besties, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb. But they weren't driving. It was Mr. Ginge. Our relationship was mainly featured in post 'The Grass Might Not Always Be Greener On The Other Side' but in basic terms was my first boyfriend. Yes, Mr. Warehouse knew of our meet up and I think a negotiating factor was the fact that Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb were accompanying me. That and the fact that I was a teenager when we were last dating. But I was not a emo-teen anymore. I was a grown women, and Mr. Ginge was a grown man. Things had changed a lot since we last saw each other and now we were en route to my old High School for Dinner (Don't ask). Pulling into the driveway of the School I recalled some of my fondest memories before things got complicated and I became an adult. It was nostalgic to say the least. 

Seating for dinner the room was beautifully decorated with red walls and ornate, brocade-style gold fixtures. It was very grandeur and can only imagine it would have cost a small fortune to eat their, not just for myself and my ex-boyfriend but also for him to cater to my best friends was definitely impressive. Pulling out my chair I had some raised eyebrow looks from The Tweedles as if to warn me on what I was getting myself into. Truth be told though Mr. Ginge and I had met briefly before and we had swapped numbers, chatting for a few weeks before ending up eating dinner in a busy restaurant in my home town. This was something I had not told my boyfriend, Mr. Warehouse, for fear of him suspecting more than there was. I am a flirtatious person and Mr. Warehouse knows (Or at least I would like to think that he does) that I know where the line is and I do not cross it under any circumstances. Nevertheless here I was, across the table from my ex-boyfriend and with my best friends sitting side-by-side on the right hand side if me we continued our discussions and made up for lost time. 

Becoming more wibbily on the flowing red wine encompassed a full bodied flavour including cherries and strawberries, I could tell that Mr. Ginge was enjoying my company. Forgetting my friends, I continued to relive old memories with my ex-boyfriend including how we met. I suppose rather conventionally we were introduced to each other though Sixth Form. Childhood sweethearts you could call it maybe. On my first day I made friends with a young chap who introduced me to all of his peers. Amongst the misfits and outcasts was Mr. Ginge. Taller than the rest at about 6ft something, with fiery red hair and a smile to loose yourself in, he was hard to miss. At the time I was unusually shy and when it came to our first encounter Mr. Ginger made sure I wouldn't forget him. Thinking I was cool a few days into term, I handed round a note pad for everyone to sign their mobile numbers and e-mail addresses. Look it was like 2008 OK everyonene was still living in the days of MSN Messanger. But when it came to Mr. Ginge's turn he disregarded my simple blue Biro. He took out a massive black marker pen and began to write his details in the rest of the book, using up a page for every single, scrawled letter. Smiling, acting coy we flirted for a week or two both inside and outside of the school gates. Looking back I can see that his boyish pokes, jokes and pushing was just a bad attempt at flirting and an excuse from him to touch me. Men, eh? But on the eve of my 17th birthday we began chatting over E-mail. 

Mr. Ginge had just got in from doing Cadet's training to be in the Army and was tired but had something to tell me. As my eyes scanned the laptop screen that evening I read over and over how this handsome lad that I had know for less than three weeks was telling me how beautiful I was and how he loved to hear me laugh. 
"I love your cuddles," he typed continuing with "your eyes are something magical too." Flattered and still in slight shock to even realise he had asked me to be his girlfriend. Cocky in my teenage arrogance I said that if he had the balls to do it in person I would oblige and so he vowed that tomorrow on my 17th birthday he would ask me again. Less than 12 hours later were standing on opposite ends of the court-yard garden at Sixth Form avoiding each other and discussing what to do with our friends. Finally, our friends forced us into a quieter area together and then scurried round the corner but within earshot so as to hear what was going on. With me hiding behind a fan of birthday cards and Mr. Ginge chewing on the end of a yogurt sachet, he made the proposal again. within moments of me saying 'yes' we had all our friends rallying around us congratulating and asking for kisses and weirdly pictures of the newly 'hooked-up' couple. It was like I had just fallen into Hollywood and Mr. Ginge and I were the hottest new couple. Within a few days my world would be turned upside down forever to change me and take away my innocence and naivety, all of which Mr. Ginge stuck by me. I think its safe to say that there were more lows than highs and he could have easily ran a mile at the first whiff of trouble. But he didn't. He stayed with me and made life bearable when the days were darker than death. Some of my brightest moments I shared with that man and I can honestly say that there will always be a place in my heart for him. 

So as he got up from the table and walked round to beside me I thought that he may be going to the toilets. A moment passed as I wondered if the dining area was this grand, how grand would the restrooms be?! Snapping out of it I realised everyone in the restaurant was silent. Mr. Ginge was on the floor. On one knee. With an open black box. Suddenly the 'vino' disappeared and was in a very sobbering situation. Mr. Ginge was proposing to me. 
"Will you be my wife?" Mr. Ginge asked, batted breath from everyone including myself. A long silence ensued. I looked around. Some faces were smiling, some faces looked concerned that moments had passed and I had yet to give an answer. This is not what I planned when I got ready this evening, nor when I was messaging Mr. Ginge a few weeks beforehand.  

I looked at Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb, urgent for an answer to a question I was not anticipating answering so soon, let alone from someone I was not even dating.
"Yes" I replied, shocked to even hear it myself. Cheers and an applause erupted and it felt as if I had just accepted and honorary title. Seating for the rest of the meal it flew by in a haze of congratulatory Champagne and shock. Heading to my room that evening above the restaurant, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb accompanied me and stayed the night in my bed whilst I tried in vain to get some sleep before returning to the reality of the situation I now found myself in. 

Many hours past and as I felt dawn approaching I knew it was time to go. I had to leave and get our before Mr. Ginge awoke. Hurrying the girls, hushed and silent as possible so as not to wake the other guests. As I finished getting dressed and packing my bag Mr. Ginge suddenly appeared in the room. Solemn in his change of mood, Mr. Ginge offered to take us to where we needed to go. I think he had realised, or been told, that our marriage was not possible. I was in love with Mr. Warehouse. He was my boyfriend, not Mr. Ginge. I felt awful and as I thought about having to tell Mr. Warehouse of my evening I felt hot waves of sickness wash over me once more. Whilst Mr. Ginge was my first love and a part of my heart will always belong with him, Mr. Warehouse was the person I wanted to marry and he was the one my future now lay with. 

The shock had still not dispersed as Miss Tweedle-Dee, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and I got into Mr. Ginge's car again. I was quiet for the majority of the journey, my Tweedles doing most of the conversing with my Ex so as not to make it more awkward than it already was. It was dark. I remember passing some tavern's and old public houses, golden and alight inside with the warmth of good company and hot toddies. The darkness only made what I had done worse. I had betrayed not only my boyfriend, patiently waiting for me at home, anxious of my company I was keeping. I had also disappointed my best friends, only disclosing the full extent of my growing fantasy with my childhood-sweetheart after the out-of-the-blue proposal. As we carried on along the road I became more and more ingrained in my thoughts and suddenly the realisation about the next few hours dealing with the consequences of giving my hand in marriage to another man kicked in like a punch to the face.

It was then that I woke. Clammy and heart racing I was glad it was Mr. Warehouse I was waking up next too. Shuddering at the strange dream I had just encountered and promising myself I would later look it up in my extensive collection of dream books and sleep-interpretation encyclopedias, I snuggled into Mr. Warehouse's back. When my boyfriend finally rolled over and I kissed him gently all in the knowledge that should the moment or time ever arise, I knew what the answer would be. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Still Got It!

Hiya!

Who makes up the rules of relationships? Where is the line from just a mild flirt to overstepping the mark? What constitutes as having an affair as opposed to just a fling? And why do we sometimes feel the need to dip our toes in the waters of singles-ville? Now who am I to judge what way you live your lives, but something over the weekend got me thinking. 

Sitting in a nice enough social club in the heart of the Bedfordshire countryside and surrounded by mainly faces I had never met before, I was mildly entertained by my evening at a thirtieth birthday party. With the needy DJ switching up songs every few minutes in order to keep at least one or two people on the dance floor, I was merry without the effects of alcohol. And no, I do not have something wrong with me (cheeky mare, you) but I had a driving lesson the following morning so wanted to be clear and clean ready to get behind the wheel with my instructor. 

After several rounds on the dance floor and a couple of trips to the bar, the night was rounding off to a good ending. But it was about to improve, for who was this Mr. Warehouse was talking to! "Ding! Dong!" I thought to myself as my boyfriend sat and chatted to whom appeared to be an old friend. The stranger soon noticed me sitting their trying to look interested in the tired, 1970-esk decor that shrouded the hall. Extending his hand, all the while sipping red wine from the other I took not of the dark, floppy hair and chocolaty eyes that framed the chiseled face and jumper-clad body. Well that's how my sober mind saw it anyway although you all know how I love to exaggerate. Nevertheless I acknowledged that he was and undoubtedly probably still is a dashingly handsome young man, whoever he was anyway. 

As the evening continued I found myself laughing at all his jokes, bonding over talk of work and what we all do for a living and even convinced him to wear my fedora, pulling it off like something out of a James Bay tribute act. Explaining how Mr. Warehouse and I met filled me with joy strangely and I am still unsure as to why. Maybe it was because I was so giddy that I was in the presence of not one but two equally screwable men, or maybe because I had already seen this stranger check me out and I was proud that I was all Mr. Warehouse's - No sharing permitted! Either way we had a length conversation with the good-looking stranger and his equally funny and friendly wife (yes that's right folks you heard correct - Wife!) and as you do when you are drunk and you plan to go onto buy houses next door to each other, send the children to the same school and eventually get a graveyard plot a few centimetres apart. 

Alas we have yet to go on our first double date with them which we had swapped numbers and made plans to do very soon but this got me really thinking. At what point would you say someone was overstepping the mark in a relationship? Everyone walks down the street or sees someone on the tube now and again and thinks 'Phwoar! I wouldn't kick them out of bed for farting' - A phrase I stole from my good friend Mr. CWG otherwise known as Creepy Warehouse Guy. Now you see why?! But when does it get past that and onto something more sinister. Is it when they stare with an intoxicated gaze at your chest, then look at you with a smirk in their eyes? Is it when they ask you to meet up after work for a quick drink? Is it when your on their sofa and your pants are ... OK we get the picture! But seriously though, what is OK?

Its normal right? I mean everyone has a crush on a celebrity or someone completely unobtainable like their boss at least once in their lifetime, its just life right? I know that the moment Cheryl Cole (or what every her bleeding name is now) is on telly with her new music video, trotting round in a pair of knickers, platforms and a whole heap of not-much-else; I know that my beloved boyfriend, Mr. Warehouse will be out for the count for at least three-minutes. But I don't mind because its unobtainable in the most part. What is dangerous is when it crosses into daily life - The stranger in the social club, the women on the bus. On an almost daily basis sometimes I watch people on my morning commute or that come through the offices be it Male or Female, and I appreciate how hot they are. Sometimes I feel the need to go and congratulate them on dressing well and sometimes I imagine them in underwear.Its naughty and you probably shouldn't do it but its just in your head so it cant really hurt anyone ... Can it?

I feel that this is a huge thing for me as I am always conscientious of not making Mr. Warehouse feel awkward or unloved or left out in social situations as I know I can be a bit (OK alot) of an attention whore sometimes (OK all the time - Jeez) and with this I feel comes part and parcel a little bit of flirting. Now I know where the boundaries lie and when your kissing someone who isn't your other half more than you would kiss your grandma then that's where you need to step away from the adultery and back the fuck off before anyone gets anymore hurt. I don't see anything wrong with kissing someone you have known for a while and that you are friendly with in a normal conventional sense on the lips. Nothing smoochy, just a quick peck on the lips - Soft and swift. Anything longer than a second is awkward and anything longer than three is pretty much "Get the topsoil we have a hoe"!

I'm not saying its OK to cheat or that I myself would, but what I do know from my past experience which I am not proud of being a cheater and being cheated on, someone is always going to lose. What I have taken away from anything on Friday evening was that whilst attractive strangers will come and go, its the people that tickle you on the sofa that matter. I love my Mr. Warehouse more than ever and with his new job finishing in a few moments I will anticipate his arrival home with more love and affection that I had yesterday but less than tomorrow. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx