Crash and burn

Again, I have to take you back a few days (after all, it was this week's events that inspired me to start this blog).

On Monday, I got a text message from the male model. He wanted to go for a drink on Wednesday.

I met male model earlier this year, sometime in May. I was out having drinks with friends from work and so was he. It was either Will or Flame that noticed male model (Will is gay and Flame knows my type well, that is, young looking). So there we were, all three of us, checking out this tall, dark and handsome hunk. I had already polished off a bottle of Sauvignon and was moving swiftly onto my second. I was ready to talk to him and start a beautiful romantic life together. Ah, but my chance of this was starting to fade as I see that he is about to leave. Quickly, I rummaged through my bag to find a piece of paper and a pen. On one side, I write my name and number. But what of Will? Should he not have a chance with this phenomenal specimen if women are not to his liking? Of course! So on the other side, I write Will's name and number. I make to chase after him, but my alcohol-fumed body and disorientation get the better of me. I fall back on my chair and land with both legs pointing to the sky. But with such an immense task at hand, I force myself up and sprint toward my future other half. Gasping for air and clutching this all-important piece of paper, I catch up to him and tap him on the shoulder twice. Once I place my destiny in his hands (and maybe that of Will's), I run back toward my friends a proud woman, a woman having carried out her mission.

Male model texted me the next day (to the disappointment of Will) and I went out with him for about a month after that. He then took off to South America for two months during which time we had very little contact. In no way did I feel this to be a great loss. He had a stunning face (and boy did he know how to give amazing felacio) but he was boring as fu*k. Every time we went out, I had to drink to myself into a stupor beforehand so as to make the night interesting.

Anyways, male model texted on Monday to ask if I wanted to go for a drink on Wednesday. Why did he want to see me? The last time we had contact was when I texted him to tell him I probably gave him Chlamydia (I hope he managed to find a doctor in Chile, Peru or wherever  he was when he read my message). "Sure, let's go for a drink. Oh, and I'm moving back to Toronto next year", I reply. I continue: "I'll be in touch again tomorrow to confirm time and place". On Tuesday, I texted male  model to ask about time and place. No reply. On Wednesday, I texted male model to ask about time and place. No reply. Oh male model, what happened? Did you suddenly remember that I gave you an unpleasant STI? Or did the prospect of me leaving next year upset you to your very core?

So I didn't hear from male model and my Wednesday evening was a complete waste. At such last minute, all I could do was hop on my scooter and head back home. In fact, an evening at home would be quite nice. I could curl up with a book and a cup of cocoa and get myself an early night. So on my scooter I get... and crash...