The Summer Ball.

It’s been a fucking shitty month. From start to finish, this month has fucking sucked. It started with the week off that didn’t end up being a week off at all. I had to go on that shitty training course for work and it cost me a fortune. Then a massive direct debit came out of my bank account for no reason whatsoever and left me seriously overdrawn. After a long debate with the bank, I finally got my money back. They didn’t half make me work for it though. Fuckers.

Then there was the time I had to move out of my room for three minutes. Then there was the dress that wasn’t going to be in here in time. It was here in time but then I didn’t have shoes to match. I found shoes to match and then I changed the dress. Long story short, we went to a Summer Ball together, Jock and I, and it was a great night… for all the wrong reasons.

We spent NO time together. My period arrived ten minutes before we left the house, after being eleven days late. That’s how stressed out I was about the event. My period was late, that’s how stressed I was. We didn’t get any photos together, we didn’t go on the dodgem’s together, we didn’t go on the waltzer’s together, we didn’t dance, we didn’t laugh, we didn’t have fun. He was nowhere to be seen and I got adopted by one of the other wives, and her boyfriend’s fiancee. Well, it was the girlfriend at the beginning of the night, but by the end, they had gotten engaged and I was officially third wheel. It wasn’t a good feeling. By 3am, I was pretty much done. I was sick of being around all those hot guys in uniform, not able to do anything, yet looking single because her boyfriend spent the evening with a ‘close old friend’ that he looked at in a certain kinda way… she sure was pretty too. It was the wife that had adopted me. I think he was crushin’ on her.

At 3am, when I asked for the key to the place we were staying, things went wrong. He lost it. The fresh air hit him, and so did the 7 or 8 Jaegarbombs, 2 pints of beer, and countless Jack & cokes. He was abusive. He was accusing. He was spiteful and nasty. He was funny, kicking the air and making weird animal noises, but it was quite pathetic watching my 36 year old boyfriend acting like the 20-something ex-husband I left behind years ago.

What did it matter? We cried, he pissed the bed, and I sat in the spare bedroom of the cold and empty house we were staying in, doing the baggy of coke I had conveniently found in my purse and talking to Big Love until 6am in the morning. That’s not a lie. That actually happened. I messaged him and I think I got closure. Another tale for another day, perhaps. Or maybe not. We’ll see how much I need to talk about it.

In the morning, he came in (after putting the sheets in the washing machine) and apologised. He couldn’t apologise enough. I was spitting venom and I gave it to him with both barrels. How could he humiliate me like that? He was nowhere to be seen all night, I played the spare part to an engagement, had to hang around with a bunch of people I didn’t know, and then end up finding him deep in conversation and face-to-face with another wife. What the fuck? That’s fucking military life for ya.

I had put so much effort into that night. His anniversary present from me was a jar of hearts – 365 quotes taken from my blog (and closely amended as so not to be traced) because he wanted, and I quote, ‘my words’. It took me three fucking months. I went through four different glass jars. I handmade 365 tiny little envelopes, and then hand-wrote 365 little fucking love notes. He didn’t even get me a card. Speaking of which, he didn’t exactly get me a birthday present either…

I drank bottles of water in between my drinks when we were at the Summer Ball so I didn’t make a complete fucking ass of myself like the last time we went out drinking. In the full-length, beautifully tailored dark blue ballgown, with blonde curly bombshell hair, and beautiful red lips, shoes, handbag and nails, I was the picture of class and sophistication. I could see the guys looking at me as I walked by. My outfit, hair, makeup and alluring perfume had the desired effect on almost every guy in the room… except my boyfriend.

I put all that effort in, acted like a perfect fucking lady, and looked THAT good for him to fuck me off for the entire night. We didn’t even get a picture together. What the fucking fuck?

Bestie said that he didn’t understand it. Jock’s a 36-year old tubby, grey-haired munchkin and I looked like that. Why didn’t he want me on his fucking arm? Why didn’t he want that? What happened???

I wasn’t mad at him for long the next day. I tried to sleep as best as I could but after the little bit of coke I’d done, I was pretty much awake. No one knows about that by the way. Not even Jock. After a couple of hours, I had softened to him again, and he apologised over and over again. I know he didn’t mean it. We all do stupid things when we’re drunk. I just realised that the weekend hadn’t been for our anniversary. It had been him getting shit-faced with his old military buddies. The Summer Ball I probably didn’t even need to turn up to. Jock wouldn’t have noticed if I wasn’t there. He admitted as much to me.

Despite all of that, I’m sat here watching The Notebook, realising that Jock kisses me how Noah kisses Ali in the movie. That’s the kinda love we have. We’re stupid and we make stupid mistakes. We get drunk and say things we don’t mean. This is real love, right here. Pissed fights aside, we’re lucky really.

11 Things Guys Will Never Understand About Periods

1. Opening a tampon wrapper so quietly in a public bathroom (or at his house) it could almost be a military operation, and takes so long, you think she’s opened her guts in there.

2. Trying to find a place to dispose of said tampon wrapper when you realise there is no garbage can in the bathroom. Who doesn’t have a garbage can in their bathroom? In order to get rid of the wrapper, you either need to bundle it up and put it in your pocket to secretly dispose of in the kitchen garbage can later, or wrap it up in so much tissue once again, he thinks you’ve opened your guts in there.

Period Humour 3. Outfit planning is a fucking nightmare. You can’t wear a short skirt in case you have the whole ‘mouse-tail’ trouble – as in your tampon string hanging down. It very rarely happens but is still a constant fear. You can’t wear anything tight and light either, in case you have an accident. White trousers + red blood = complete public humiliation on a level you would not believe. That’s before you even get onto the topic of water retention and how you can only wear specific jeans during Shark Week.

Period Tampon Humour 4. Dropping tampons out of your hand/pocket/bag in a public place. Again, utter humiliation on a level you would not believe. Even more so if someone else picks them up and hands them back to you.

5. Periods, although fairly regular for the most part, still come when you least expect it. This means that you can never be completely prepared. Every girl has woken up in a pool of her own blood. Every girl has come on someone obscene without a tampon to hand. Every girl has realised she has run out of tampons when she reaches for the empty box in the bathroom…

Period Tampon Humour 6. Having a love for a particular brand of tampon. If a guy comes home with the wrong brand, all hell breaks lose. How are you expected to use the brand of tampons that he has brought home? They don’t have the silky coating on them so they’ll scratch you and hurt when you pop them in. He’d never understand that. The dick.

7. Being obscenely hot. All the time. What guys don’t realise is that a girl’s basal body temperature will go up during Shark Week which means she is a walking hot water bottle. Don’t touch her at night when you’re sharing a bed. Don’t try to cuddle her. Don’t try to snuggle up behind her in the middle of the night. She will want to stab your eyes out.

8. Everything pisses us off. We hate everyone. You are an idiot. My sister is a bitch. Your best friend is an asshole. My boss is a dick. I can’t believe the postman was so late. It’s a good job I wasn’t waiting for that parcel. Have you hidden my other shoe? Oh my god I’m so fat today, look at the state of me! We don’t understand it. Don’t try to understand it. Just accept that it happens.

Tampon Period Humour 9. Tampons are expensive. It’s a pain in the ass. I personally don’t understand why I should have to pay for tampons. It’s not like it’s a luxury, is it? It’s a necessity. What would happen if I were so poor, I couldn’t afford tampons? Would it be acceptable for me to leave a trail of red behind me? No, I didn’t think so. Why aren’t tampons available on the NHS? Let’s start a petition!

10. If you’re anything like me, you’ll get so horny on your period that you want to hump anything in sight. It doesn’t matter who they are, or what they do, or even what they look like – if they are in your eyesight when you get the horn during Shark Week, they’ll do. We don’t actually do anything about it, of course. We are far too lady-like for that. Plus that brings on that whole ‘sex on your period’ debate…

11. Wanting to eat your own body weight in chocolate. In fact, I don’t think this just applies to just Shark Week but for the purposes of this list, I’ll include it! 😉


The Cheating Husband.

I did something today. Well, actually I did something the other day but it actually happened today. I applied to change my name back to my maiden name. I’m back to how I was before. You know, before the guy that destroyed me bounced into my life and changed everything around.

My Husband was a scumbag. One thing I don’t think I’ve spoken about all that much in this blog is exactly how much he cheated on me. A ridiculous amount. To be fair, you’d have thought I’d have learned after the first couple of times. But oh no. I decided to keep putting myself through the mill. You know, because I’m a twat like that.

Cheating - Phone

We hadn’t been together that long when I learned that he had been sleeping with someone else. It was his ‘best mate’s’ girlfriend, and apparently he had gotten her pregnant. Apparently, when I was in hospital with kidney problems, he had smacked her about and she had lost the baby. I never found out the real truth but after a few weeks of lying, black eyes (his mate decked him), and more tears than he ever deserved, he finally admitted that yes, they had been sleeping together.

Do you want to know what else he admitted to? He admitted that when they (him and his best mate’s girlfriend) came to where I worked that one afternoon, it was moments after she had sucked him off in a pub toilet. He had been texting me the entire way through too. What a classy guy. What a fucking skank.

There were a lot cheating rumours in those early days but I wasn’t exactly an angel myself. He never found out though. That’s because girls are smarter than boys. That’s another story for another day perhaps?

We got married and on our wedding day, his mother decided to tell me and my entire family about the girls he had slept with behind my back. Yep – she knew it all and she told EVERYONE. On my fucking wedding day. Again, classy. And a fucking skank. He later admitted that he fucked a girl in the ass during a one night stand in the bed that I had to spend my honeymoon in.

Yet I still didn’t leave him… 

It wasn’t long after we moved out of the country that things started to go wrong. It was within the first two months of me being there that he cheated. It was about three months later that I found out. It was over a year later when I found out the whole truth. And that was only because he had caught gonorrhea. I got tested, I didn’t have it. Just so you know. I’m still proud that I’ve never caught an STI in my life.

It started out that it was just a random girl in a bar that he had met one night. Over a year later he told me that he had slept with a prostitute in a whorehouse without a condom, and that’s where he had caught it from. Yep, he liked hookers. So much so, in fact, that he went away to a tropical place for four months, snapped the bank cards so I had no access to money, didn’t talk to me the entire time he was there, and basically acted as if I didn’t exist, and he slept with more prostitutes. The number has ranged between 4 and 8. It depends on who you talk to and when you talk to them. For example, When I was sleeping with the Neighbours Husband, it could have been 8 or over. The Hubby admitted to four when he was on coke but later retracted that statement. That’s something I should probably mention – we used to do a lot of cocaine together and when we did, the whole truth would come out and every time, he would tell me about another time that he had cheated.

I’ve lost count of the amount of people he slept with, or reportedly slept with, while we were together, married or otherwise. There was the four hookers. Plus the hooker that gave him the clap. Plus the girl that he fucked in the ass in our honeymoon bed. Plus the best mates girlfriend. Those were the ones that he admitted to. The rumours were never-ending. No wonder I drove myself fucking crazy.

He always used to come up with the same excuses when I quizzed him about why he cheated. I didn’t understand it – yes I was a bit overweight (a lot but I was pretty delusional at the time) but I did anal, gave him head on demand, cooked his dinner, cleaned his home, did his laundry, and rode him whenever he demanded. We were married. I had moved to a different country for him. Why would he cheat on me?

It was because I was fat when it came down to it, and it was something that he repeatedly said… Just not always in so many ways. He didn’t like the way my stomach had stretch marks. He didn’t like the fact that my boobs and butt jiggled. He didn’t like the scars from my self-harming even though they were there long before he came along. He didn’t like my piercings. He didn’t like it when I had blonde hair. He didn’t like it when I had black hair either. He didn’t like half of my clothes. He didn’t like the fact that I was fat. He wanted to sleep with a girl that was skinnier than he was. He wanted to know what it was like to sleep with a skinny girl again. He wanted to experience a girl who’s hip bones he could feel. He said all of those things. He actually said them to me.

Why didn’t I leave? Because I was destroyed. He beat me. He beat me and he cheated on me, and on top of all of this, he crumbled me down into teeny-tiny pieces until I thought there was nothing left. He sucked every ounce of life out of me. If I hadn’t left, I would be dead. I would either have killed myself, or he would have lashed out a bit too hard and done the job for me.

I didn’t think that I could ever get any better. I didn’t think that my fat size 16 self would get anything hotter than the guy I had right there in my hands. To be honest, I’m pretty sure that’s why he hates me now – he can’t believe that I left HIM!

The fact of the matter is that if he had treated me right, I would have done all of that hard work by myself. Look at me right now – I’m happy with Jock. Deliriously so. We have our up’s and down’s and we fight all the time but honestly, I really fucking love him. I lost weight. I have more confidence than I ever remember having before in my life. And I feel good. He makes me feel good. Perhaps if my Husband had done the same thing, we would have stayed together.

But he didn’t.

He cheated on me.

A lot.

The prick.

It’s OK though – I’ve got my old name back now! ❤ 

I Slept With Your Husband. Wanna Know How?

I have slept with my share of ‘taken’ men – men that have had girlfriends, wives, lovers at home waiting for them while they were enjoying their fun and no-holds-barred fun with me. Take Number 26 for example; apparently a happily married man with one kid yet he slept with me on a couple of occasions. He enjoyed my blow jobs on plentiful occasions. I’m pretty sure that’s what kept him coming back.

Cheating Ex.

I slept with him because I crawled my way in. I was the girl that he could drink beers with. I was the girl that he could finish an entire 18 inch pizza in front of and not get judged. He was the girl that didn’t want him to pick up nappies or baby milk on the way home. I didn’t expect him to pay the bills or provide a roof over my head. I had my own soldier for that. Between us, it was just sex. Have I failed to mention that I was married too?

I was the chunky girl with no self-confidence or esteem because my husband beat me so the closer I got to your husband, the less anyone cared, or noticed! You were the beautiful and a tiny size zero chick with the big brown eyes and the perfect rosebud lips. You were tiny and so cute. Annoying but cute. No one would ever have believed that I had slept with your husband. I was no threat to you at all.

Cheating Ex.

That’s what worked between us. The late nights that he spent at mine drinking beers and playing video games – those nights actually happened. He never lied about that. What he did fail to mention was the clothes-rippingly great sex we had at the same time, usually at the end of the night. When did he last rip your clothes off? When was the passion between you so great that you literally couldn’t wait to get each other’s clothes off? That’s what he had with me – passion.

I really wanted his cock in my mouth when I was sucking on it; deep-throating it as far as it would go to impress him. He’d push my head down and listen to the little gag noises that escaped my throat. When was the last time you let him do that to you? He fucked me in the ass on the living room floor while I played with my Rampant Rabbit, toying my clitoris off to an toe-curling orgasm – his hands covering my mouth as a I struggled to keep it quiet. When was the last time you let him do that to you?

Cheating Ex.

That’s the thing – these ‘taken’ men… They are looking for something they no longer find in the comfort of their own relationship. It’s exciting having to keep things on the down-low. I remember the night that you knocked on the door as he reached his climax in my mouth. We were watching some shit TV documentary together while you were taking care of his baby downstairs. You asked if he was still at mine and I said yes he was, did you want him? You said no, you were just checking where he was as he hadn’t text you back. How could I tell you that I had pushed your husband’s phone down the gap in the side of my chair cushions to stop it making a noise while I was sucking on his balls?

From my point of view, his interest in me gave me the boost I needed. He was choosing to fuck my mouth that night rather than worshipping your tiny size zero body. He looked at me with lust in his eyes during that water fight in my living room, moments before he ripped my sweater off with his teeth. He wanted me. I wanted him. I had him.

I’m sorry for fucking your husband. I’m sorry for all the husband’s I’ve fucked along the way. Number 28 was another prime example. He told me all the stories in the world about why he was fucking around behind his wife’s back. Back then at 18 years old I believed them. A few years later, with Number 26 – your husband, and I knew he wouldn’t leave you for an instant. I wasn’t that naive. I didn’t want him too. I just wanted his beautiful cock in any which way I could. And I got it.

Cheating Ex.

You’ve broken up now and you both have new partners. Maybe you should know what happened between us. Maybe, deep down, you already know? What about the two girls he cheated on you with while he was away with work? Did you know about those? I knew the rumours were going around but I never knew if you knew. That’s the thing about guys that cheat on their wives – they’ll think of any excuse. Sometimes it’s warranted, sometimes it’s not. One thing I learned from my cheating husband who I later exacted my revenge on was that he would never change his spots. Apparently nor could your husband. I’m glad you’ve learned now.


Crazy Things That Happen To Girls During Their Period

Something happens to a girl when she starts her period. The usually loving, good-spirited, warm-hearted woman that you have come to know and love will turn into an absolute monster. Overnight. Without any reason.


You’ll go to bed fine. You’ll blissfully sleep, safe in the knowledge that she’ll be right next to you when you wake up and then when you do, shit goes down. WTF?

She’ll be breathing fire. She will hate your guts. She will want to throw things at you because you’re breathing at her with your vile morning breath. You got her bacon sandwich wrong too. She wanted brown sauce, not ketchup. The coffee won’t be strong enough and there’s definitely not enough sugar in it. Where did you put her other fucking shoe? She’s going to be late for work now. She hopes you’re fucking happy.

Familiar? Don’t worry guys – you’re not the only one.

I’m such a bitch to my other half when I’m menstruating. I hate sharing a bed with him because my core body temperature rises when I’m on my period, so him being anywhere near me turns my bed into an oven. I’m sweating and when our body touches, we sweat together. It’s disgusting. Get out of my bed.


I hate every snore sound he makes and it keeps me up all night. I hate that he wakes me up in the morning to make me tea. Just go make me tea and shut the fuck up godamnit. If I wanted to talk to you, I would have started a conversation. It’s as simple as that.

The first couple of days for me are the worst. I feel sorry for my other half. One minute I’m fine, craving cuddles and affection, snuggling up together on the couch and the next minute, I’m ripping his head off for something he did six months ago. It’s not my fault. It’s not your girlfriend’s fault either. She’s a bitch right now because of her hormones.

The next three to five days are going to be a nightmare boys but don’t worry, because it’s a nightmare for her too. She’s irritable and it feels like a giant fist is clamping down around her uterus and twisting it. She’s too hot all the time. She’s on the brink of tears most days and she’s not entirely sure why. You irritate her. So do her friends. She doesn’t want to answer the phone to her mother, and if you think she’s going to want to go to the pub to watch the football tonight with you, you’re very much mistaken. At this point, she has nothing to wear. And you’re a prick.


She’ll be a bit swollen and puffy because of the hormones, and she may be retaining a lot of water. Everything she wears will make her look fat. She’s not exaggerating. That’s the image her hormones are making her see when she looks at herself in the mirror. Her feet are swollen too so she can’t wear any of the shoes she has in her closet. And her face has broken out in spots because of those fucking hormones again, so she’s not feeling at her best.

Don’t rally around her or try to make her comfortable. You’ll piss her off. Don’t offer to make her a cup of tea, just go and make it. If she doesn’t want it, she won’t drink it. Chances are she will. Put paracetamol or other pain killers directly in front of her but don’t say anything about it. Don’t expect thanks or a hint of a smile from her. If she’s in a lot of pain or particularly emotional, a tub of Ben & Jerry’s will earn you some serious brownie points. A large bar of Galaxy doesn’t go amiss either. Again, don’t expect thanks and don’t offer it to her. Just put it down in front of her and hope for the best. That’s all you can do.

PMS Emotional

She doesn’t look fat. She doesn’t look like she is spotty. She isn’t a grump. That’s what you need to keep chanting in your mind if you want to make it through this week. She’s your girlfriend and you love her. It’s not her fault. It’s her hormones. The other three weeks of the month are going to be fine… It’s just a few of days away.

Don’t try to have sex with her but if she wants it, go with it. Just remember to put towels down first. Don’t try to get her to give you head because ‘you shouldn’t miss out just because she is’. If you try, you deserve the punch in the face you are undoubtedly going to get. However, if she offers, accept it gracefully, regardless of how knackered you think you are, and how little you can be bothered.

Just do what she wants really. Do what she wants and keep quiet. It’s gonna happen at least once a month so you’d best get used to it now. It doesn’t get any better with age, and she won’t get any nicer the longer you’ve been together.

But chin up guys; she’ll get to 40-something and ‘dry up’ anyway.


Thinking Out Loud.

Jock sent me a new song. He does this every time we have a fight. Remember ‘Better Man’ by Paolo Nutini? It’s turned into his ‘thing’. I quite like it. This time it is an Ed Sheeran beauty – ‘Thinking Out Loud

As soon as I watched the video, my heart melted. He knows what he’s doing. He knows how to soften me up. Secretly, I love it. Maybe we found love right where we are? I’m listening to it as I write this and honestly, I can’t help but smile.

Yeah I’m pissed at him but I do still love him. Isn’t that what love is all about? Arguing and then making up again? Life would be so boring if everything went to plan, wouldn’t it?

I wanted to message him back but I haven’t yet. I’m going to share the video on my Facebook later. He’ll know I’ve seen it and instantly fallen in love with it. I won’t need to say anything to him. I won’t need to admit defeat. He’ll just know. And then we’ll be back to normal.

See that’s what we women really want, isn’t it? Someone to vent out to irrationally from time to time? Someone who knows we don’t really mean a single word of what we are saying and know even though we are really pissed, we’d still be fucked without them. Just don’t let us know that you know it.

We want to vent our anger directly at you for a couple of days each month. Some months it might be for more days than others. That’s sadly just the way our hormones work. If you think dealing with us is difficult, try being one of us. Our minds go nuts and we don’t know why it happens, but it does. Deal with it. When we soften towards you after a big rant, don’t make a big deal of it. Don’t even bring it up. Don’t expect an apology either… That will come a couple of days later more often than not. Don’t try to rush it. Know that it will come.

I wasn’t pissed at Jock because he went to see his step-daughter on Father’s Day. That’s not why I was pissed at all. I was pissed because he went at the time that he did. There was four hours between him getting that phone call and him leaving, and I’m sure he knew we were heading to my Papa’s for 2pm. We had the conversation enough times. How could he not have known? Anyway, not that it matters now. He’s softened me up. I’m over it. Once again, he has shown that he handles me like a pro. I suppose I had better tell him he’s forgiven then… 😉

To find out why I was pissed at him in the first place, check out Stood Up.


Stood Up.

I’ve been a bad blogger, I apologise. I didn’t realise it had been so long since I last blogged. I’ve been a busy girl! I had a birthday and I’m now officially 28. I had a week off that didn’t end up being a week off with a three-day training course. I also got stood up by Jock. Here we go again. Let the 6-day silence begin…

I hardly think this one was my fault. We woke up on Father’s Day, a tad hungover from the World Cup game the night before. He kept me awake snoring ALL night. Like literally all night. Then his phone went off at 8am. It was the Ex. After that, things went dramatically downhill. He asked if I wanted tea. ‘No thanks, I’ll make it later’ was my response. He ignored it and made me tea anyway, waking me up one more time in the process. At this point, it was 10am and I had slept for about three hours. I was now in the throes of a raging hangover-headache. You know the one’s I mean. For someone that NEVER drinks, I seem to have an awful lot go hangover’s recently…

Now, a week previous to this, Jock and I had gone to my Papa’s house for them to meet for the first time. Papa invited us over for the Father’s Day BBQ and the two men finalised plans. We reiterated these plans last night with my sister during the football game too. 2pm was when we would head over there. At 12 o’clock, he decided to go see the step-kid. You know, because the Ex had clicked her fingers again. It takes 45 minutes to get there so it didn’t take a rocket scientist to know that he was never going to be back in time to make it to my Papa’s. By this point, with the lack of sleep, the hangover-headache, and the boyfriend that was just about to stand me up for his Ex and her daughter again, I was fucking fuming.

He got that first phone call at 8am. He could have gone to see them hours before he did. I had to change everybody’s plans because of him. I called my sister to see if her and her boyfriend could come and get me as my other half had so spectacularly stood me up. Then I got to my Papa’s and I was met by a very disappointed face. Jock and my Papa have a shared love of bikes and my Papa’s pride and joy (Ducati) was with the mechanic last time we were there. He was so desperate to show it off to Jock and then he didn’t show up! I didn’t make a big deal out of it – he went to see his daughter, sorry he couldn’t be here. I was fuming though and I think my Papa could tell, and I could tell that my Papa was kinda disappointed too. He bought so much food for the BBQ, and got the bikes all ready with their new tanks and exhausts to show off for Jock not to arrive.

Stood up.

I can come over when I’m finished here. I know where your Papa lives” was Jock’s answer to it all when he finally got around to messaging me back. Na-uh. I’m fuming now. Don’t you even dare bother coming over late. You knew what time it was, and you chose to go to your Ex’s late. I know it was to see the kid but honestly, I’m getting fucking hacked off with this.

I didn’t hear from him all day after that. Clearly he was having a much better time with the woman he keeps fucking me off for. I’m starting to wonder what the point is. We had a really shitty few weeks and we had only just got ourselves back on the straight and narrow again and then he does this? It was all my fault too for not letting him turn up late. That was the fight we had just before I got into bed. The bed he was meant to have been sharing with me. I find it funny that he would blow me out like that when in a couple of weeks he’s in court with the threat of losing his license. Just to put things into perspective, he got 6 pounds for driving without insurance (which was an accident), and then got two further lots of speeding points. He misread the letters he received and thought he had longer than he did to do those courses they make you do when you get caught speeding, and is now running the risk of going to court and having a further 6 points… 12 points = a ban, right?

He’ll lose his job. We’ll barely be able to see each other because I can’t drive. Well, I can. I just never took my test. I don’t like driving. It scares me. Too many prats on the road for my liking. Despite all of this, he’s still fucking me off for her. This is the guy I’m thinking about having kids with… Maybe I should reconsider? 

I wouldn’t mind but he waited a full four hours before he decided to fuck off. He could have left at any time. We had the 2pm-going-to-Papa’s conversation at least three times in the last week; how could he not have known what time we were leaving. I knew what time we were leaving and I smoke so much pot, my memory is shredded. How could he stand me up like that in front of my Papa? How could he humiliate me like that? 

So yeah, that’s where I’ve been. We’re fighting again. Is it me or is this turning into an all too regular situation?