Evening was drawing in, silence driving me up the wall. I was eye-rolling my way into a deep pit of frustration as I discussed his lack of contact with one of the girls. He was quite content to stroll in and out of my texts when suited, and I wish I could say I wasn’t having any of it, but I was shaving my bikini region more often than I’d like to admit.
He was currently going through one of his disappearing acts, and the five chocolate biscuits I had eaten on my friend’s bed just weren’t filling that angry void. Action was needed. Instead of taking it upon myself to be mature and text him, I decided to skip down the jealousy route.
After twenty minutes of deliberation, my friend grabbed her boyfriend’s Nikes and we headed outside. It’s probably important to note here that her boyfriend wasn’t even there, but off we trotted, about to use his footwear as a sabotage plot.
iPhone at the ready, Snapchat open, my friend slid her dainty size 4’s into a pair of size 11’s. We grabbed a football, put that and the top of the Nikes into the shot before I slipped my own foot in too. Within six minutes, I had gone from a blubbering mess to a happy-go-lucky country gal enjoying a game of footie with her make believe fella.
The picture stood proudly on my story as we headed back inside to devour biscuit number six. It was a flawless, genius plan, and I had officially lost the plot. Some hours later, his name popped up at the top of my story viewers before he sent me a very heartfelt snap of his beautiful face and absolutely no caption. If it had had a caption it could only have said: “Remember me? That guy who kind of likes you when you seem content in life?” Funnily enough, my mate’s boyfriend text me around the same time: “Are you using my shoe to make a lad jealous?”
Weighing up all the signs, I didn’t think I should start planning baby names just yet, especially since Romeo didn’t even reply to my reply. Even my bikini stubble was judging me that day.