I Still Hate The Ex.

I still hate the ex. He was meant to have been coming over tonight. He was going to come to mine tonight, go see his daughter tomorrow, and then come back to mine tomorrow night where he would then stay for three days as he was around my way for a course anyway and it just made perfect sense. Well, that was until the fucking ex got involved again. Fuck the fucking ex.

We’re still not on happy ground, Jock and I. He text me after I had finished work to say he was looking forward to seeing me tomorrow. I was confused… wasn’t it tonight that he was meant to have been staying at mine? At that point, he conveniently decided he was ‘kidding’ and would be over later. I saw it as a get-out-of-jail-free-card and said I had work to do anyway. It wasn’t a lie. I do have work to do. I’m probably not going to do any of it because I’ve got a family sized lasagne for just me and the Bestie, and X Factor is on at 8pm. I’ve got my priorities, you know?

The fact of the matter is I’m still pissed at him. He asked me if I was still angry with him…

Me: “I’m pissed off with the stupid situation again. And the fact you hid it from me.”

Him: “There is no situation. I dealt with it!”

Me: “For now. And you still hit it from me”

Him: “Because I knew this would happen. I get shit from her then I get shit from you for getting shit from her. I can’t win!”

Me: “Fine. See you tomorrow.”

I’m not allowed to be pissed because she’s still interfering in our relationship. That’s what he’s basically saying right? If he had put a stop to this right at the very beginning when I first had an issue with it, we wouldn’t be in this position now. It’s a fucking joke. Yet he STILL won’t fucking stand up to her. He won’t put a stop to all this bullshit. Why? Why won’t he just stop it?

We haven’t spoken since and that was 4 hours ago. He’s not at work and he’s seen my message so I know he’s now ignoring me. What’s the chances we ignore each other again tomorrow and he doesn’t end up coming to mine at all? I reckon pretty high. What about you?

I’m super annoyed about this entire situation. Like super, super annoyed about it. It frustrates me that she still has so much power and control over him, and what frustrates me even more is that he sits there acting like it’s not a big deal when it is. It’s a fucking big deal. And now I’m not even allowed to be pissed off about it? What the fuck is all that about? What the fuck is this guy on?

Do you want to know what else pisses me off? They are fighting and have been fighting supposedly for the last two weeks. If that’s the case, why is it that she posted a picture on Instagram of a screenshot with Jock and her having a funny conversation about something the kid had said… just a week ago? Clearly I can’t bring that up to Jock because then he would know I had been stalking the crazy bitch ex from hell, but seriously? They’ve been fighting for two weeks yet she’s posting pictures of conversations they’ve had, laughing and joking, in the last week? Why is this starting to feel like it doesn’t make any sense? Why am I starting to get anxious? Why don’t I want to see Jock tonight? What the fuck is going on?

So yeah. It looks like my plans are screwed. Until he actually needs me, you know, when he needs a place to crash while he’s on his course.

Cock.

Here We Go Again. 

So. The fucking Ex. She’s back. Jock and I had been sailing along just splendidly for a while. Well, not exactly splendidly but we were doing OK. To be fair, nothing exciting had happened in a while. It was inevitable that something would go to shit. It just had to be her didn’t it.

Fuck I hate her.

I don’t get what this woman’s problem is. Honestly. There is no fucking need for this bullshit. She’s like a petulant child. It’s ridiculous.

Crazy ex

Apparently, two weeks ago when Jock and I had a beautiful date followed by AMAZING sex, it first started. He had secretly added her as a friend on Facebook again because she was going to send him pics of the kid or something like that. She saw a photo that I had shared of us having coffees and apparently went spastic at him. Oh no sorry, I’m not allowed to use the term “spastic” am I? That’s not politically correct. Let me think…. She went fucking batshit crazy. How’s that?

I don’t really know exactly what happened because Jock did what Jock does best – stirs up shit and then runs for the hills. He’s a fucking asshole like that. HE told me the bare minimum and then refused to answer any more questions. And then I hung up on him.

He told me that he was seeing the kid on Sunday… My only day off. He knew that. I imagine she did too. I would imagine it came up in conversation when they were making arrangements for him to spend time with the kid. That’s the only day she would allow him to see her – my day off. Apparently he then deleted her from Facebook again. How very playground of us.

Why is she still so angry about things that I post up about our relationship? She’s been with the guy she’s engaged to now for about the same time as Jock and I have been dating. Why’s she making our lives hell? For fucks sake WHY?

Things are not finished between the two of them, are they? That’s patently obvious now. She wouldn’t still be like this if it was over. She wouldn’t be freaking out over photos of two cups of coffee. She wouldn’t be saying he can only see the kid on my days off. She wouldn’t be doing any of this. It just wouldn’t be happening. And he wouldn’t let it keep happening. That’s the long and short of it all, isn’t it? He hasn’t got what it takes to fuck her off. He hasn’t got it. She’s still got her claws into him. She’s always going to. Because of the kid.

I thought I’d be handling it pretty well but the fact that Jock hid all of the fighting between them from me for two whole weeks, and only brought it up because I asked about it, just proved that I’m clearly not the most approachable of girlfriends. He really couldn’t tell me about it? That’s the one thing I loved the most about us – we had no secrets. We were a team. We were united. Now we’re not. We’re not because he has secrets from me. I don’t have any secrets from him. Well, he doesn’t know that I went for a drink with The Fireman but that’s only because I’ve not seen Jock. If he asked about it, I would totally tell him. Totally. No, honestly I would.

That’s besides the point though – he didn’t tell me. And if I hadn’t asked, he would have never spilt the beans. It makes me wonder what else he has conveniently forgotten to tell me. Are there other fights I don’t know about? Are there other scenarios I should know about? I don’t want to even consider the fact that something may have happened between them. Before this point, it had never even entered my mind that, that could be the case. Now I’m starting to wonder. The seed has been planted. And you know what crazy girls are like when the seed gets planted. Next I’ll be going through his phone and checking his collars for lipstick marks. Well, probably not the collars. I don’t even think he owns a collared shirt.

Seriously though, when the fuck is this going to stop? They are like two kids in a playground. It’s pathetic. What the fuck?! Why are they still going around in the nasty break-up circle over two and a half years later? Do they still have feelings for her? I didn’t think he had feelings for her before, but now I’m starting to second-guess. I think it’s crystal clear she’s still hung up on him. She wouldn’t be doing any of this if she wasn’t. What the fuck am I meant to do?

I don’t want to share my guy with anyone and to be honest, I don’t think it’s unreasonable of me to ask that. Is it so wrong for me to still have some belief in the fairytale? I may have married the wrong guy before but I wouldn’t have kids with the wrong guy. That’s so sacred – making a life together. It’s not something that should be given away to anyone. I knew the guys before Jock were wrong and that’s why I didn’t have children with them. I never wanted to have children with them. With Jock I know. I know one hundred million percent now that I want to have children with him. I’d do it right now if I could. I don’t want to share him. The kid’s not even his! I know it’s wrong of me to say that, and trust me, my “Papa” isn’t my real Papa so I know better than anyone, but come on! Give it a fucking rest already.

I don’t think I can do this. He might be my fairly tale guy but this isn’t my fairy tale scenario. It’s really not. And I know right now is just one moment in time and everything can change around but it’s not showing any signs of changing at any point soon. We’re in exactly the same place as we were on day one – we may have fallen in love with each other but things aren’t moving any faster forward. We’re not living together. There’s no talk of us living together. There’s no rock on my finger. There’s no baby. There’s just an Ex that won’t fuck off and leave us alone.

Help me?

I Want To Talk About Poo.

Today’s post is not going to be about sex or relationships or anything fun like that. Today, my post is going to be about something very embarrassing, incredibly gross, and something that you’re probably not going to want to read.

I have IBS.

Yep, that’s right. After a year or so of struggling to use the loo, having bouts of constipation and diarrhoea, and generally being in pain 80% of the time, I’ve finally managed to get the doctor to turn around and tell me what’s wrong:

“I’m pretty sure you have Irritable Bowel Syndrome, although there are a couple of more tests we need to do to rule other stuff out.”

To be honest, for all this time, I thought it was just me. Perhaps I wasn’t eating a great diet, or maybe I didn’t drink enough water / get enough fibre / eat enough fruit. The crippling cramps I used to get whilst trying to use the loo were getting unbearable and considerably worse, and when I woke up yesterday morning in tears, desperately needing the urge to use the loo but without very much happening, I called in sick and made a doctor’s appointment.

My boss was a dick. I couldn’t call in sick. I left them in the lurch. He wanted a sick note… He was a dick. The GP’s surgery weren’t much better either. They had no appointments, there was nothing I could do.

I gave it another couple of hours and, still in extreme pain, I called the out of hours line. After listening to everything I had to say, they urgently advised me to book an appointment in the next two hours or so. So, I called the surgery back and relayed the information to which I was met by the same response – they couldn’t book me an appointment. After a bit of bath and forth with my apparently shit doctors, I finally got an appointment…. for 7 hours later.

See this is the thing – most doctor’s surgeries round here are shit. You can never get an appointment for when you’re actually ill, so most conditions go unnoticed for long periods of time. Just like the insomnia I tried to get help with, and still don’t have any help with. And the weight loss that was fast and unexplained… I kept repeating myself to new doctor after new doctor and not getting anywhere fast. Finally it looks like I might be getting somewhere.

It’s embarrassing – IBS. I’m quite lucky. I get constipation more often than I get the D-word. That dreaded D-word. But, and this is a big but, I get the pain and discomfort that normally associates itself with diarrhoea, but then nothing happens. My gut is engorged and becomes bloated, I’m in immense pain and yet… nothing.

The pain is like nothing else I’ve ever experienced. It’s pain that doubles you over – it cripples you. It feels like my insides are being twisted around and around, and no amount of painkillers seem to be able to soothe it. I need to fart yet I can’t. I need to go to the toilet but I can’t. It’s unbearable.

For months I’ve been asking the doctor about IBS. I watched my Papa go through the same debilitating symptoms that I had to go through. I had my suspicions for a long time. Finally the professionals have caught up with me. Finally.

The only problem now is now they need to rule out other shit before they’ll give me a final diagnosis. I need to poop in a pot. I’m still not sure how I’m meant to get my poop in that pot but so far, the only advice I’ve been given is to use the assistance of a lolly stick. Well that’s just gross, isn’t it? I also need a bunch of blood tests. Great. I’m no good with needles.

So that’s it really. The thing I thought I had – IBS, well it turns out, I’ve probably actually got it. I have an actual syndrome. It really sucks. Now, unless I want to sit through hours or painful cramps, I need to watch what I’m eating. I never had any of this hassle when I was fat. Now I’ve lost all the weight, I’m literally falling apart. I need to take tablets. I need to drink this gross tasting orange crap that makes me feel sick and already has made me vomit once. The first day… Perfect.

At least someone is listening to me now. At least the doctors are listening to me now. This pain I’m feeling; it’s not normal pain. It really hurts. I can deal with leg aches, knee pains, period pains, headaches, toothache; I can deal with all of that. This is a different pain. This is a really painful pain.

So yeah.

I’ve got IBS.

I Went On A Date With The Fireman.

Well, I’m pretty sure the title says it all, don’t you? Date is probably too strong a word but to be honest, it wasn’t far off. It was awkward, cute, and actually quite a lot of fun. And not, it didn’t lead to a kiss at the end of the night. Don’t worry. Jock has nothing to worry about.

I had been bowling with the guys from work when I got his message.

“Free for that drink tonight?”

Fuck it, I thought. Why not. I’ve already had a couple. Might as well kill two birds with one stone, right? I met him in a pub that we used to drink in 11 years ago when we were in the throes of our passion, and it all went splendidly from there.

It was really awkward at first. The last time we actually saw each other was the night he said no to me, and we all know how badly that shit went down. We chatted for a little bit, drinking our drinks, and then he suggested that we move to a better pub.

Ex Funny

Onwards we went and it was a better pub. Firstly, it was closer to my house so I wouldn’t have far to walk when it was time to go home, and secondly, it had a pool table. It turns out neither of us can play pool for shit. It was a really funny game though.

At the end of the night, we had a lock-in; just me, The Fireman and the raging lesbian behind the bar. For hours we talked, smoking and drinking. At one point we even had cigars. It was a pretty awesome night. A grown-up night. We talked politics, the justice system, and more in our slightly hazy state.

It wasn’t long before there was a bit of flirty banter between The Fireman and I. He touched my arm, and I moved a bit of fluff from his hair. If it had been an actual first date, it would have been pretty perfect. But it wasn’t our first date. Far from it.

He was smitten with me and that was very clear from the start. He’d already commented that my new hair choice of colour ‘really suited’ me, and I looked ‘completely amazing’ these days. It’s the first time he’s seen my skinny self. Clearly it did the job it was intended to do.

There was something there. Only a little spark for me. Clearly a lot more for him. But there was something. His panting for me just made me feel that little bit better. The fact that I was unobtainable now just made it even hotter. The naughty innuendos and cheesy, kinky jokes were all part of the foreplay. If we had gone home together that night, the sex probably would have been amazing.

He walked me home and things got awkward once more. At the bottom of my steps I stopped, turned to face him and hugged him, kissing him on the cheek and saying “Thanks for a great night!” at the same time. It was the perfect closing move and I’m actually surprised I managed to pull it off. I gave him just enough body contact to keep his interest alive, yet firmly reminded him that walking me home was definitely all he was going to end up achieving. It surprised him. I’m not normally quite so firm and powerful. I was just the little blonde girl to him. I’m something else now. He likes it. I can tell. He didn’t know how to react. It was quite odd because he sorta bowed his head, turned around, said thanks and pottered off up the road.

Within ten minutes he had text me.

“Do it again soon?

When’s good?”

Is he actually trying to arrange a second date here? What the fuck is going on? We met up, we reminisced, we both got a bit of flirty banter out of it…. Why hasn’t it stopped? If we don’t fuck on that first night, we don’t fuck. That’s how it goes. We both know this. Why isn’t he playing by the rules?

I tried to make a joke of it with a cheeky face and “Can’t keep away?”. I wasn’t ready for his response:

“Seems that way… I had such a good night, I just want to do it again”

He’s booking a second date, isn’t he? How does that work? He’s been with his girlfriend for three years, I’ve been with my guy for almost a year and a half… How are we booking a second date? Does his girlfriend know? I told Jock I was out with ‘an old friend’. Technically it wasn’t a lie. Would I tell him the truth? If he asked me straight out to my face, yes definitely. I wouldn’t be able to lie to him because he’d know face to face. I’m not going to offer the information though. I sense that would be an aggravating move.

I don’t really know what to do here. If I go on the second ‘date’ with him, is it a ‘date’? Does he expect me to put out? Don’t worry, I’m definitely not up for that. Firstly, I’d never do that to Jock. Secondly, I sense that it would probably be hotter in my head than it would be in real life. He’s not the same person that he was back then. He doesn’t have the same physique. He’s not the same person at all. Neither am I. I just think I should leave that in my head.

Maybe I’ll just see what happens. He’s moving away soon. Six weeks or so, I think. I’m sure I can just avoid the subject of the next date for six weeks. I’ve managed to avoid some people for years!

It was a great date though.

Hot Guy At Work.

Hot Guy At Work. So today I served this guy at work. Oh man, I don’t even know where to start.

He came strutting on in, bald head with big baby blue eyes. It’s the eyes that does it – those baby blues fuck me up. They fuck me up every single time. He was wearing pale jeans tucked into big black leather motorcycle boots. Lid on one arm, big grin on his face, he came strutting towards me and I was done from the start. He works on the oil rigs off shore. He had that ex-soldier-boy look about him. He was older I guess – maybe in his mid to late 30’s? He was well travelled, had a fabulous sense of humour, and won me over in no time at all. There was no wedding ring, I noticed. No picture of another woman on his phone. He might have seen the picture of Jock and I on mine, although I did try to hide that.

Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten about Jock. We’re still very much in love but seriously, you had to see me and this work-guy together. We had chemistry. We had serious fucking chemistry. We clicked. We were laughing and talking, chatting about bikes and places we’d travelled to, etc. I give him some advice which I’m hoping will pay off. He thanked me for being ‘ever-so helpful’. He knew I was flirting with him. He loved it. The smile he left with was even bigger than the smile he walked in with, and that’s saying something. My work colleague noticed. She thinks it’s dangerous territory.

He left and I pined for about ten minutes. I wanted him to come back. The store emptied after he’d left and I kept wishing he’d pop back in. Maybe he still will? Maybe if he takes my advice, he’ll come in to say thanks some time. Some customers do that.

I remembered his name and I looked for him on Facebook. I didn’t find him. Damn. I really wanted to find out more.

I have no intention of doing anything, of course. It’s just flirting. That’s all it ever is. That’s all it is with The Fireman and My Mr. Grey. That’s all it is with this work-guy. He was hot though. Not conventionally hot. Like your Dad’s best mate hot. But now it’s okay to fuck him.

I wonder if he thought about me after he left? I hope I made him smile. I hope that harmless bit of banter was enough to brighten up his day. It certainly brightened up mine.

Back to reality and I finally get to see my Beautiful Tattooed Jock tomorrow night unless he blows me out again… Are we holding our breath? I probably wouldn’t advise it. I guess we’ll see.

That’s how my day went. How about yours? 

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33 Reasons Why Retail Work Sucks

Retail Work Sucks 01One:

“Hi, what can I do for you?”

“Hi, I’m fine thanks…”

I never asked.

Two:

Customers coming in two minutes before we close, asking for ‘two minutes’ of our time… and than taking up half an hour of it. Don’t worry, I didn’t want to go home or anything.

Three:

The customer is always right.

Fuck off. No, they’re not. Rarely. If at all.

Four:

Grabbing a cigarette and your lighter and just as you head out towards the door out through the shop on your way for your first cigarette in four hours, and some fucking old boy stops you and asks you if you can help him. Really?

Five:

Being deliberately ignored or belittled because I’m a woman in a male-orientated industry. I might be a Barbie blonde but I know more than most of them in here mate, and I will not hesitate to humiliate you if I can. Subtly, you know. In a way that I can KEEP my job.

Six:

“Have a nice holiday, sir!”

“You too!”

Yeah, I’m not going anywhere. Cheers for reminding me of that douschebag.

Seven:

Having a foreign customer whose English is so bad, you’ll never be able to understand what they want in a million years, but they won’t leave. At all. For ages. And you have a queue, and they are all looking at you and it’s embarrassing. Just fuck off. Come back with someone English.

Eight:

Having to use the toilet after my male boss has emptied his asshole in there. Honestly, women work here mate. Your toilet is right next-door to mine, and no amount of that nasty, cheap air freshener is getting rid of what crawled up inside you and died. Show some fucking respect.

Nine:

Reatil work sucks 05You know when you just don’t click with a customer? You hate them for no apparent reason and you’re pretty sure they hate you too? And then you have to serve them. And it takes forever. And neither of you want to talk so it’s just like that horrible awkward silence? Yeah that ruins my day.

Ten:

Nature calling right in the middle of serving a long and complicated customer. Or you know, when you really need to fart except you know it’s either gonna stink, or make the loudest, funniest noise. And if it stinks, it’s not like you can blame it on the customer because they know it wasn’t them…

Eleven:

“Thanks for your help!”

I didn’t actually do anything but cheers for making me feel appreciated buddy.

Twelve:

Serving a customer wearing a burkha and not being allowed to laugh.

Thirteen:

Customer’s kid’s. Full stop.

Fourteen:

Those wankers that get my hopes up and make me think they are going to buy something and then say they are just ‘shopping around’ and cripple my confidence.

Fifteen:

People that ask if it’s ‘just the two of you’ when referring to myself and my other colleague on the shop floor. No, there’s a hidden fairy standing right behind you, you fucking plonker. Yes, it’s just us. Wait in silence or get the fuck out.

Sixteen:

People that are rude for what appears to be no apparent reason. I don’t know who pissed you off today, but I’ve only just starting talking to you so I’m pretty sure it wasn’t me. Remove the stick from your anus and treat me with a bit of respect. Otherwise I will spit in your proverbial burger.

Retail work sucks 06

Seventeen:

Those awful jokes. That stupid laugh I have to do. For fucks sake.

Eighteen:

Customer’s that you’ve been ‘working on’ for what feels like hours leaving the store and then coming back and being served by another colleague. It’s OK, I didn’t need that commission. Thanks for wasting my time. I hope your cat starves this week. Just like mine will.

Nineteen:

Going into a DIFFERENT store on my lunch break, and being asked if I work in THAT store. Yes, of course I do. The fact that the massive logo on the back of my t-shirt doesn’t give the game away at all…

Twenty:

Similarly, being asked work-related questions on the journey home because of said uniform.

Twenty-One:

“Haven’t you got one out back?”

Yeah hang on, let me go out there and shit you out a new one. Just because you clicked your fingers. What do you think I am? One of Santa’s elves? Prick.

Retail Work Sucks 02

Twenty-Two:

Those magical days where you’re meant to finish early…. but you never do because you get stuck with that hour-long sodding customer right at the end. You can’t pass it over to anyone else either, because they’re conveniently busy doing other shit.

Twenty-Three:

Similarly, getting stuck with the village idiot at the end of your shift.

Twenty-Four:

When your work colleagues get to go home early. Fuckers. Oh and all those convenient dental trips they keep going on. Really buddy, your teeth don’t look that bad to me.

Twenty-Five:

I think my boss wants to sleep with me.

Twenty-Six:

I’m pretty sure most of the other work colleagues do too. Well, maybe most. I am one of two girls, and she’s just had a baby!

Twenty-Seven:

Customers that smell. BO, last night’s alcohol, bad breath, too much cologne, piss…

Retail Work Sucks 08

Twenty-Eight:

Noticing that weird mole on their face and being transfixed by it for the entire conversation. Your’e pretty sure they know too.

Twenty-Nine:

Oh yeah, and my eyes are up here dickhead. Those are my breasts.

Thirty:

When you know the lights are on but no-one’s home. They’re never gonna understand what you’re saying.

Thirty-One:

Those people that get all up in my grid and infect my personal space – those people really piss me off. Stop getting so close, are you trying to be in me? Take a step back buddy, or I’ll make you.

Retail Work Sucks 07

Thirty-Two:

The one that knows everything – really? If you know everything, fuck off and stop wasting my time. Seriously, just fuck off. You’re wrong anyway.

Thirty-Three:

The mobile-phoner’s. Get off your phone and talk to me you cretin. Manners cost nothing, don’t you know? Oh, and rude people. Have I mentioned rude people?

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34 Tomorrow, Eh?

Two years ago today. Fuck. It’s that time of year again. It’s My Mr. Grey’s birthday tomorrow. I remember what we were doing two years ago today.

Fuck I miss that. 

That would explain why he has been messaging me a lot recently. Things have gotten a little saucy between us recently. He’s been paying me plenty of compliments, and I’ve been lapping them up. Isn’t that how it works between us? Isn’t that the game we play? He puts me on the highest pedestal that he possibly can, and I find it ridiculously impossible to be the perfect girl that he’s always wanted, yet we still have a night or two of utter … I don’t even know the right word. Pick one. Pleasure. Pain. Torture. Excitement. Hardcore. I don’t know. Pick your favourite.

He’s My Mr. Grey for a reason.

I’m having a really hard time trying to compose my thoughts to write this, so I apologise if everything seems a bit scattered. Every time my fingers start to tap, my mind trails off in all sorts of directions, none of which I can seem to keep still for long enough to write about. It’s driving me crazy. He’s driving me crazy. He’s not even here and it’s happening.

I messaged him. I probably shouldn’t have done that.

“34 tomorrow, eh? I remember exactly what we were doing two years ago today.”

I don’t even know why I said that. What I’ve just done right there is invite him to talk about it. And we all know what talking leads to, don’t we? Talking leads to sexting, and sexting leads to photos, and photos lead to videos and phone calls and in the end, he’ll come back down to my end of the country, and we’ll fuck. We’ll fuck and that will destroy everything I have going with Jock. All because I had that urgency to text him. A simple ‘Happy Birthday!’ tomorrow wouldn’t have done?

Well done.

Why do I always do this to myself? Why does he always do this to me? He knows what happens when he starts messaging me. I have no will power when it comes to that guy. No will power at all. It pisses me off. He controls me. That’s what I fucking hate. I let him! In the battle between my head and my heart, my vagina wins every fucking time!?!

He hasn’t really appeared that often in my life with Jock as yet. I have dumbed down the importance of his role in my life to some extent, and I’m not even sure why I did that. Jock would understand, I’m sure of it. If I were to tell him everything about me and My Mr. Grey from start to finish, I’m sure he could say that he has a female friend or two that he would have the same relationship with. I could probably name them too. I wonder how he feels about My Mr. Grey? It’s like battle of the Scots. What a fucking battle it would be.

Best day ever in all of time” is what My Mr. Grey has just said about that night, two years ago. It was pretty amazing. I read my post about it before writing this to refresh my memory of a night that clearly meant a lot to both of us, and remembering it like that; wow. That guy really blows my mind.

Settling down with Jock would mean cutting My Mr. Grey out of my life. I know that because I my world isn’t big enough for the two of them to both be in it. There would be no more nights of explicit content, and no more fantasies of running away together and living happily ever after. It would be done with. He’d know this. I know this. Do we want this?

I think both of us thought that we’d end up together – My Mr. Grey and I. I think my Mama Bear thought that too. We are kinda awesome for each other in so many ways. It’s gutting to think that it would never happen. It will never happen. I’ve picked my Scot and I’m perfectly happy with my choice.

It’s natural to always wonder ‘what if’ though, right…?