“So it turns out his friend was seeing you before and he said you’re a psycho…” Classic. I continued munching on my dairy milk as I listened to my friend update me on how her latest Tinder date went. Ah the classic ‘Psycho’ line – a term he threw at me when I asked him what was going on between us because I was bored of being in limbo after weeks of texting 24/7, spending every night out together and sharing moments of absolute intimacy. I had to laugh at this point, there was no point fighting the crazy accusations anymore, it was better to roll with it so that he avoids contact ever again. In fact, I felt more powerful and smug than anything that he had finally admitted that we were actually seeing each other. All I ever got was: “I don’t know, I’m not ready, I do like you though, my ex really hurt me!”
I tried to predict the future – should they have a second date, a spark, the house, the kids, the dogs, the happily ever after – would I have to maturely avoid calling his mate a prick at any gathering they may host? Or maybe her hubby would add “P.S. no crazy women allowed.” at the bottom of the invitations to save his lovely friend from the pressures of women chasing him in wedding dresses? In that case, the gathering would be 100% male because according to their crazy scale, women can’t say “Hey how are you?” without men collapsing on the spot with all the unwanted attention. Please, no pictures, we just want to live a quiet, confusing sex-filled life free from emotional ties and going on dates in public places. Save us from this torture of having to be selfless, honest and upfront.
I finished my dairy milk, emotionally detached from the past negativity and added an enthusiastic: “So when are you seeing him again?” It’s okay, his friend and I definitely weren’t soulmates, I don’t even know how we ever thought our personalities clicked. I guess we were both psycho.
