In the spaciousness of everything, in all the time and all the things I've yet to know about the Cappo Comedy Writer, to say I didn't expect this was an understatement. I'd deliberately employed a careful cocktail of nonchalance, terribly low expectations and detachment to this endeavor. In fact, I'd even hesitate to call it that as if naming it would bring the Furies upon me. Is it ironic it gets the same treatment as Voldemort? Oh yeah, this whole thing is That Which Shall Not Be Named.
"Oh, boy, are you still mad at me?," he wrote again one day. I ignored it.
"Hi, really, are you ok?," he asked again the next day. I ignored it.
"Ok, so I really wasn't just saying hi back then," he admitted the day after that. I ignored it.
"I'm really sorry. Please stop being mad, please. I think about you all the time and I didn't know what I was doing. I don't think of you that way at all. Don't be mad anymore. Please?," he pleaded again. "And yeah, I get you're into someone else now," he finally added.
As every woman from time immemorial knows, men are gifted with the confounding ability to contact you the very second you wake up brimming with delicious anticipation that despite your catastrophic romantic history, there is joy yet to be discovered in the form of a fresh new prince. Or if you're a lucky, an entire stable of them. There you are springing out of bed in song, glad for the company of your animal friends who've cheerfully arrived to do the housework in time to the melody. The valley is awash in dew, the sun is all flattery and you have just mysteriously lost 5 lbs. All is well.
Then without fail, X comes back. Usually with amazing timing and nil real explanations. In this case, after an entire year just the day before an exciting date with Serbia and right as Kentucky launched confederate pursuit. You are smirkingly convinced you are now Hot Shit when the Ex-Flicker pings back and you're reminded of all the awful indignations you willingly suffered at their hands. Vis a vis the sweet memories for all that was good back then. At work, I turn to Chocolate Momma in exasperation, "What is it? Is it a Super Power, some kind of She's Moving On Timer that makes them look up and decide this would be the day for a Come Back?"
"Uh-hmmm," she tutts. "You KNOW it never fail, child. The bastards just seem to know, they gots to get you before you goes."
The Horn of Plenty, Mikhail Fedorenko
It seems the Horn of Virginlandia has blown loud over the land. Either that or someone's bunged up my Chastity on Ebay. Harking from nowhere after an entire year, the Cappo Comedy Writer makes his return. Well, sort of.
It happened on a Friday, precisely one day before I meet Serbia. I had the sudden urge to ferret my supah phone out of my car at 3 in the afternoon and end up gawping at it as his message blinks at me. Short but sweet, plain yet meaningful. Behind it lay all the skill of his craft and the weight of his sentiment. He starts with , "So yeah..it's been forever.." and in a few paragraphs tells me that he had no intentions of harassing me or causing anxiety but that he always thought of me. That he realized he had behaved awfully. That I didn't deserve it. That I was good and special. He hoped I could see he was sincere. He hoped I was happy.
Then of course, he passive-aggressively left his new number right underneath his name.
FA on feathers, fangs, furies and all sorts of folly, yes, even the serious kind.
content copyright 2011
Yep, my life, my insanity, my copyright. If you like what you read, let me know :)
Did I use your image & attribute it incorrectly? Sorry! Let me know and I'll take it down. "Sssshhhh" image on blog header by Deborah Azzopardi. It's an amazing print now available thru Ikea.