Ro-more trouble than it's worth-mance
Last night, munching our way through our big plates of bangers and mash with onion gravy, in our jimjams, I got thinking about romance.
I’ve never been the most romantic person in the world but even so if in my teenage years someone had told me that after six years of marriage the idea of romance for my husband and I would be to say to each other, ‘I wouldn’t come in here if I were you darling, I’ve just dropped one of those chemical ones.’ I would not have believed them.
But to tell you the truth now I’m more than happy with this arrangement. My romantic life for the most part, has only ever been a series of mishaps which I have always thought I could very easily have done without.
Take this for example. This guy I knew a bit from here and there, once invited me to go for a walk with him in a field.
When he arrived, I noticed that he was dressed very smartly and had a picnic basket with him that had a bottle of wine and two glasses inside. I was shocked because I didn’t fancy him in any shape or form and had no idea that this was some sort of date, but then again since there was a definite lack of romance in my life at the time, I thought a little bit of field, river, sunset and wine might do me some good.
As we entered the field, we realised that we weren’t the only ones who had thought of lazing away a summer afternoon by a river in a field; at least twenty cows had come up with the same idea. What’s more, they had arrived sometime before us and had picked the best spots for themselves. There weren’t that many of them really but as if by magic, they had managed to cover the whole field in cowpats, making it hard for us to walk around without putting our foot in one, let alone find a big enough manure-free area to put down our picnic blanket.
You could tell the poor guy was getting quite agitated; this clearly was not the romantic setting that he had hoped for. Trying to make him feel better I said, ‘It’s not very nice around here anyway, come on let’s go sit closer to the river’ and led the way. Next thing I heard a loud shriek from behind me, as my elegantly dressed companion slipped on a cowpat and a splash, as he fell into the river.
Now here’s the part that I’m truly ashamed about; without giving it a second thought, I started running by the side of the river as fast as I could, keeping one eye on the picnic basket and thinking up ways to rescue it. It wasn’t until I had to do an emergency stop about fifty meters down (as two cows had blocked my way) that I realised my instincts had got the better of me and had resulted in me showing my true colours by putting all my energy into chasing after what was most important to me i.e. the bottle of wine, when what I should have done was to give my injured date a hand and help him out of the river.
We have not spoken ever since.
End of part one
Tune in again in a few days for the part two of Ro- more trouble than it's worth–mance.
Here’s a teaser:
My worst ever romantic experience however was definitely this one, mainly because it came disguised as my ultimate romantic fantasy which was to have someone I’ve never seen before, come up to me and say, ‘It’s you’ meaning it’s you that I’ve been looking for all my life and now that I’ve found you I will never let you go and la la la (by which I mean all the rest of the things he meant by saying ‘its you’ and not that he would suddenly burst into song or anything like that. Saying that I must admit sometimes when I was feeling particularly cheesy or had just seen a musical, he would be singing and doing a little dance and all)…