I go to a friend’s to play Scrabble and he texts me again at 11.30 to say ‘Goodnight baby. Have a good sleep xx’ and I’m on cloud 69 again.
Tuesday. Have a good productive work day, and forge ahead with my new book on future collectibles. I also make up a new homily:
A man should be an accessory in your life. Not your entire wardrobe.
I tell myself I won’t hear from him today and I don’t but I cope with it. He texts me at 10.45 p.m. to say that he misses ‘my company and my laidyness’. I go to bed happier...it doesn't take much!
I text the Rugby Player who’s in Verbier just to keep the wheels oiled.
Wednesday. What a turn-up for the books! I get a text from Finn, a 25 yr-old New Zealander I met on the internet last summer with whom I had a brief fling. It ended badly after three dates, with him sort of asking me for money, although I was never really clear whether he just wanted the cab fare home or some sort of financial handout. Some people think toyboy = gigolo but this is not so, and I am not, nor ever have been, a Sugar Mummy. Sweet? Yes. A mother? Also... but it ends there!
It did make me question whether I would ever consider paying for it though, and I came to the conclusion that everybody pays for everything eventually...one way or another...
‘Hi W, I have been back in NZ for 3 months. I know I was a complete ass last time but would you like to meet up again? We had something that blew my mind. Truth is you were the hottest woman I ever had – a real catch…Sorry I was rude…I would love to see you again.’
I am tempted to revisit the situation but mull over the effect this may have on my conscience. (Yes... believe it or not, I do have one!) I text him back haughtily, telling him I’m currently 'involved with someone'. I don’t mention that that someone needs to haul his cute, little ass up my stairs PDQ or I may call in my first reserve, whomever that may be.
I get stick from my girlfriends about even conversing with Finn again. They remind me how upset I was by his behaviour back then and I remember with a twist of torment that he’d committed the cardinal sin of making me feel old.