I am now on a playing field where I feel like it is not worth going out with another guy, if it isn’t Mr. Right (as unrealistic as that sounds) – because ex’s are absolute terrors.
Anyone would think I walk into relationships regularly with my eyes stitched shut. It’s so incredibly unexplainable how I end up with the ex from hell when he seemed so perfect at the beginning. Seriously, it is like breaking up with a guy turns him into this Voldermort creature that just wants to suck everything great out of life – without even the consideration of leaving one of those cool lightening scars!
Granted I am the biggest sucker for smooth talking and promise of an unforgettable romance, but I should have learned over the last 20 years that things are never what they claim on the tin. Especially when they come with ingredients such as testosterone.
When I look at some of my ex’s, I think, ‘I would never go out with someone like that’. Suddenly they say things I trusted them not to say when we were together, and the painful truth is outed that he only ever wanted his ex when he was with me. Fabulous times * insert sarcastic face here *.
The worst part is I’m a person that wants to stay friends with the majority of my ex’s when sometimes that’s just not possible (even though reading this, your probably wondering why).
This leads me to another explanation as to why I’m on the playing field I’m on now; I’m getting to frightened that the relationship won’t work out and I will lose another person from my life. Going out with someone usually means they are one of the closest people to me, so why would I want them going anywhere permanently?
If you thought things couldn’t get any worse, just wait. The ex in question will be living a few doors down from me in about a month, and I wont be able to escape seeing him!! Regrettably, I think somehow he will still recognise me when I try walking along with a Primark paper bag over my head and a sash across me with the words ‘yes, I’m your ex, trying to avoid ever seeing you again’. Another cunning plan from me – destroyed.
So I guess I shall have to be strong; walk with my head held high and my eyelids stitched open. Along with being really careful the next time I walk my local streets. When the next tin of testosterone comes flying towards my head, I’ll be sure to duck.
