Mad as a box of frogs

Last weekend, Stouty witnessed me at my most psychotic. We were in a swanky French restaurant in Brighton (I was visiting him for the first time) and half way through my duck confit, he tells me he knows the name of my blog. The succulent duck immediately turned to sawdust in my throat. Frantically, I try to recall all of the blog entries that he could have cast his eyes over. I must have been staring at him blankly for a good ten minutes. I was just waiting for it to happen, the breakup talk.

He knew that I wrote a blog (a sexy blog), but for obvious reasons, I kept the name of it a secret. I didn't want him to know about my sexcapades, my mistreatment of Turkish people, and I certainly didn't want him to know about Smarty (considering the proximity between the two of them). He had always been quite content that I keep my blog private from him; he said it was "my thing" and that he found it endearing. One day, however, he saw the name "Stouty" on my laptop, and he jokingly bet that he'd be able to find the blog if he searched for it. He searched and he found.

So there we were at dinner, with me wide-eyed and waiting to be dumped, when he tells me that he hadn't actually read the contents of the blog. What? No seriously, what? His girlfriend writes a blog that reveals the most intimate details of his relationship and he hasn't read it? My first reaction was that this guy was chatting sh*t, bullplopping, talking bollocks. If it had been me, I would have turned off my phone, locked myself in my bedroom, and sat hunchbacked in front of my laptop with a fine-toothed comb (probably in the dark, looking wild) going through each and every entry to find out why my boyfriend had kept the blog a secret from me in the first place. Surely, this is what he would have done too, right? But then I stopped and recalled that I am a highly insecure person and that I have a tendency toward the extreme. Plus, Stouty's one of those confident guys that if he had read the blog, he would have unreservedly said so (I know, don't you just hate self-assured people?).

So I believed that he hadn't read the blog, but I wanted to pre-empt him catching me out on a massive lie if he ever decided to read the blog in the future. I therefore told him about Smarty. I told Stouty about Smarty. Yes, I told Stouty that I had slept with Smarty even though I had told Stouty that I had never slept with Smarty. It was a horrible moment, but perhaps only for me because Stouty was completely understanding. He forgave me in an instant. I couldn't believe my ears. What is with this guy? What is his problem? Really, how can anyone be this laid back? So of course, I took it upon myself to create some drama: over dinner, I started going on about how it wasn't going to work between us, how he deserved much better, yadi yadi yada, and then when we got back to his place, I broke up with him.

I'm telling you, p.s.y.c.h.o.