Sweet Convictions

by Elizabeth, C.

  And I’ll be honest, if the tables were turned, I’m positive, I’d have not only whacked any cheating-man-stealing bitch over the head with her keyboard but I’d have indeed been particularly verbal about my feelings whilst in the process of it all.

  But hey, how could anyone misread that huh? Come to think of it, I’d have probably done all of that to my deceiving husband, rather than her. After all, he’s really the one to blame. He knows he’s married. He knows he’s in the wrong and he’s certainly the one who should know better than to fuck with me.

  It kills me that I missed something so significant. I mean, I really didn’t know a damn thing. Was I honestly that pathetic and blinded by what I thought could be love?! Holy hell was I naïve back in my young inexperienced days! The guy practically lived with me for god sake. Had I turned an ignorant blind eye or was I honestly that pathetically and desperately stupid?

  A few months down the line, his wife and I got in touch and decided to collaborate and scheme a plan to trick him. I drove around to their home whilst he was at work – due to finish shortly thereafter—and picked her up in my car, however she didn’t climb into the front or even the back seat – she clambered into the boot. Thinking back on it, I was pretty fortunate none of her nosy neighbours were watching from their windows or I’d have probably been pulled over and done for kidnapping! Oh shit! Even worse, had she been trying to trick me, I’d have definitely been thrown into a cell for it! Okay, I just got major shivers. I’ve never thought of that until now!

  Anyway, thankfully it wasn’t the case. I collected him saying I wanted to talk it out and we drove to a nearby park. Immediately as I had come to a stop, we got out and walked together to a bench and sat down. Seconds after, his wife snuck out of the boot and appeared before us with each of us giving him an ultimatum to which his response was kicking up dirt as he ran off and never reappeared in my life again. I’ll tell ya, I’ve learned a hell of a lot from that wasted year alone. To never trust anyone ever!

  Arrival of wank-stain number 2: The woman-beating, over-moisturising, anger-infused, confidence-crushing waste of skin. An ugly – in many ways than just one—walking dildo who could never make a decision of his own. A real soul-sucking mommy’s boy who always felt the need to fold his clothes before sex. Had he had the choice and time, he’d have ironed them too. The one who had all the signs of a handful and I don’t mean a pleasurably soft stress ball type handful, or a sumptuously plump breast type of handful; I mean more like a handful of sharp stabbing nails.

  Enter cock-sucker number 3: The arrogant, self-loving, self-centred, self-anything, philandering bamboozle who loved himself so much. A David Beckham wannabe, and to be honest not too far off from a lookalike actually; who put me down at any moment that he could, forever trying to change anything about me, from my lipstick shade, nail polish colour, how I wore my hair, what I should and should not wear, and worse, how I should wear it if I was to wear it. The one for whom listening was an undervalued skill which he simply did not possess or come to grips with. The only times he listened was at the sounds of his own voice or to the gaps in between whatever he had to say. One who was so shitty that even his parents and grandmother warned me I should leave because I was too good for him. Note to self: Shoulda taken a hint then!

  Come in dick-head number 4: The unmotivated, insensitive, resentful, ridiculously lazy knob who had a complete lack of dialogue and an absolute deficiency of emotion. The bull-headed, heart-obliterating mind-fuck who treated me more like his roommate-slash-cleaner-slash-cook-slash-mother, who he fucked once a month if I was fortunate enough to be treated to his limp shrimp. The one, who I inanely thought was The One. The one who told me that I was perfect in every way yet never actually allowed our relationship to reach its fullest potential because he was so numb to any feelings or desires of any kind. The one who hated kissing, the one who refused to do anything as a couple, the one who made me think I was worthless and the failure of our time together all my fault. What a guy!

  And then came along number 5, not-a-twat-at-all, Shaun: The altogether genuinely great guy. Caring, indulging, affectionate and selfless. We were best friends with constantly amusing banter and astounding sex. The only problem being, we pressed each other’s buttons far too much. We knew how to wind each other up to the point of it becoming unnecessarily nasty. He was the one whose ready-made kids I adored as if they were my own. The one with whom, regrettably I just could not find that indefinable can’t-see-my-life-without-you spark. And whilst we believed and tried to make a good go of it, it simply wasn’t meant to be. A shame but a thankful end because it opened the doorway to my heart and soul to the true and right One for me.

  Finally, the end of my loveless tear-jerking journey. Welcome to Excellence Forever—my savour, my best friend, the one who without fail ignites a flame in my soul; my world, my entirety. Mark.

  Only two months into our relationship, I manage to construct some prowess and convey to Mark that I love him. Another two months follow and I suggest that he quits his ludicrously low paying job up north and move in with me. And a speedy four months later, we’re engaged. Well why the hell not?

  It was a perfect proposal too – traditional; beautiful. I had been in suspense for months, waiting for it to happen and eventually gave up hoping. Then one day Mark tells me that he’d like to take me out for dinner. We hadn’t really done that many times before then. We’d always preferred to stay cuddled up indoors with takeaways hidden away from the world; alone savouring one another’s company, bodies, lips, eyes, conversation.

  So of course, this invitation I was pretty excited about as I got to wear my strapless knee length cocktail dress that I had bought about a year earlier but never had the opportunity to wear anywhere nice. God if I tried to fit into it again now, I’d split it in two.

  Annoyingly, our reservation was delayed slightly so we popped into a local old man’s pub a few doors down and had a drink in there. Initially I felt overdressed but realised soon after our arrival that in fact, I was rather underdressed which became quite apparent from the salivating grunts and hungry stares I was getting each time I leaned across the pool table. We played three games of pool and I kicked Mark’s arse every time. I knew then it was gonna be a gooood night.

  Eventually, Mark received a call to say we could make our way to the restaurant. When we arrived, we were ushered to our table by two, not one, smartly dressed and very smiley waiters. We were seated at a small round two person table towards the back of the quaint, although rather boisterous and bustling diner. The table was the only one with a small lit lampshade and candles on it. But I hadn’t noticed this until Mark mentioned later that when he saw that, it was his sign to finally do what he had hoped to for the duration of the past month. How cute!

  As we sat down he ordered a bottle of red wine, which got me thinking and hoping again. We never ordered bottles, just wine by the glass. We spoke and laughed about everything general – the day, our week, the worldly happenings, how much fun we were having already. We took in the setting—hen dos, couples, friends and family birthdays. We ordered the most delicious starters I’d ever had; beautifully fried king prawn tempura. For once the batter not sickeningly oily but a covering perfectly crispy in all its zesty gloriousness that effortlessly crumbled in my mouth and dissolved away as the spicy little scraps hit my tongue.

  Soon after we finished, the waiter returned to clear our plates and ask which cocktail we wanted. Of course, I knew this little outing was already going to cost an arm, a leg, and a head so I checked with Mark and he urged me to choose whichever I wanted. Slightly apprehensive but not too much so, I did. It arrived with our main courses; mine, a plate of chunky sirloin steak medallions sautéed with mushrooms and green and pink peppercorns, drizzled with a creamy chilli and white wine sauce, the top crisscrossed with four glossy, field-green asparagus spears; again, every bite out of this world, not only with their tongue-smacking flavours but also from the picture-perfect skill of it al
l. It was as if I were flicking through a three dimensional book of forage art and picking out the intense richness of each picture from their pages and tasting them. I don’t even remember what Mark had. I was so involved in my own plate, too distracted with food orgasms to notice what he had on his. Woops.

  By my last mouthful, I was ready to pop so I decided to go to the ladies for a bit of a stretch and to steal the opportunity of touching up my lip gloss. Even the bathrooms were gorgeous.

  When I returned to the table there were two tall crystal flutes and a freshly opened bottle of champagne taking centre piece on the table with its dancing bubbles.

  All I could think was oh my god could this really be. My heart hopped, skipped, jumped and somersaulted into the air at the likelihood. But instead I regained control of any such thoughts and just went with whatever came my way, enjoying every second of every minute.

  Now bear in mind that we had had quite a bit to drink by that stage already and whilst at the time and even the following day and for weeks following that tremendous occasion, I recalled exactly what he said to me in the build up before taking my hand into his and asking me to marry him. Regrettably, guiltily and embarrassingly, I couldn’t recite them now. I do however remember they were beautiful and they generated many an exultant tear.

  But holy moly as soon as I saw that shiner, and I mean a massive rock surrounded by eight ever so slightly smaller diamonds, and he slipped it onto my finger, I went berserk; kooky, loony, nuts, daffy, bonkers, buggy, and completely haywire.

  It was perfect. Everything about it. Where I thought I wanted a massive centre of attention and all-about-me-and-only-me moment, I got the opposite and it was even more exceptional. It was our moment...until of course, after saying yes and kissing him that is. After that, I rose to my feet, swung my hand around for the entire restaurant to see and shouted that I was engaged.

  And just in case they’d missed it, I shone the ring closely in the eyes of the couple sitting to my side. The only issue, which I only realised afterward, was I think possibly we may have stolen their thunder. It was quite likely that the guy sitting at the next table was also about to do it. Thinking back, he did give off all the similar signs of nervousness, sweats, restless hand-holding, sipping anxiously at water every three seconds, that sort of thing. Just as Mark did. Oh well, a guilt-felt moment of mine that promptly became defunct as it disintegrated into thin air from the blinding glisten of my diamonds and the acute ecstasy seizing my every feeling and every thought.

  My spotlight moment acquired us a standing ovation, an announcement over the sound system, more drinks—free ones, oh and a heart-shaped cheesecake, of which I managed all of a bite, okay two. I was just too excited and bloated to eat anything more. At that moment I wanted to pay the bill, get out of there and tell everyone on the street, knock on doors and let those inside know too.

  In the taxi into town where we continued our night, I found out that originally Mark had planned to propose on the stage in front of thousands of screaming and drunken fans at the Hard Rock Calling gig we had recently gone to. Fortunately for him and his abhorrence of being the focal point for any reason, the organisers never bothered to come back to him. God, I detest when people don’t have the courtesy of responding to a query. Rude lazy arse-dingles!

  Anyway, so when you meet someone after less than a month of online chat, but already feel like you know that everything about it is right, well then bloody accept that you just bloody know. Don’t disregard it. And certainly don’t over analyse it. Just go with it. Savour that feeling and make the absolute most of it. Even my butterflies have butterflies! In fact, fuck butterflies. I feel an entire zoo inside my belly when I’m with him.

  Why is there pretty much a life rule in that you’re supposed to follow this order?

  (1) Find someone decent enough to even consider initiating contact with? Already this eats up a chunk of your time just searching for that person;

  (2) Talk for a while first. This alone can take days, weeks or even months before you finally pluck up the courage to meet face to face;

  (3) Discuss going on a first date. That’s if you’re fortunate enough to have been asked on one or ballsy enough to be the initiator. Another few days of deliberation or worse, waiting and hoping for something that may not even happen;

  (4) Follow up with a few more rendezvous’;

  (5) Another month or so at least of holding out on sex just so you don’t appear desperate or easy, even though you’re absolutely gagging for it and going through batteries like nobody’s business;

  (6) Take a while longer to talk more and learn every single thing there is to know about that person. This alone can take years because no matter what, does anybody really know 100% every single thing about the person you’re hoping to spend the rest of your life with? I don’t believe for a second that everyone’s that privileged;

  (7) Stress for months on end about when is the right time to say those three special words;

  (8) Eventually reach a point of even considering moving in together. Another year gone at least, whilst you occasionally allow them to stay over, leaving a spare toothbrush and a pair of undies, and vice versa as you continue to monitor and analyse how they live, and decipher what their bad habits and annoying traits are;

  (9) Finally you take the plunge and move in together. Then there’s at least a year of giving it a proper trial;

  (10) Then the ongoing mulling over the thought of buying a house together, which most of us will never really have money for anyway, and then;

  (11) Wait and count how long the right amount of time to wait is until bringing up the subject of marriage and children;

  (12) Simply to waste even more time torturing yourself in the lingering hope he’ll ask you to marry him, only to agonisingly discover after all the time-consuming, emotional and financial investment you’ve already ploughed into the relationship, he might bring to fruition the fact that he’s never wanted to get married, not to you or anyone else either, whilst at this point we consider ourselves fortunate, because of course, according to him, it’s nothing personal to you that he doesn’t want marriage. Oh good-golly-gumdrops, thanks mate!

  Before you know it, three to five and in scarier cases, even more years of your life have whizzed by in a blink only for you to end up alone and having to restart all over again because it took you that long to say what you really want, or to ask if they even wanted any of the same things as you. And don’t forget the wasted tears and heart-ache. I mean what’s the fucking point of all that time and fluid wastage?

  Save those precious saline droplets for more significantly heart-crushing times like when your beloved pooch or kitty dies, or when you find a drink that you really, really, REALLY love at your preferred coffee franchise but discover they only serve it once a year as a Christmas treat or tease more like, or when you discover that the one and only lipstick shade you’ve used for over ten years is now discontinued, or when your heart races at the sight of the online listing on your favourite clothing store showing that the dress you’ve been searching months for is in stock when it’s in fact sold out and no more stock is being brought in, or when...well, you get the point that I’m so desperately trying to ingrain into your beautiful heads.

  No more squandering of tears or emotion. I say just go for it. Fuck everyone else’s opinion of how quickly you’re going. If you feel that it’s right then how you do it and the order in which you choose to do it is your decision. You will know if it’s right or not for you and let nobody tell you otherwise.

  Talk about anything and everything right from the start, no matter how scary or allegedly wrong it is, whether it be about your future plans of having twelve kids; the desire to say your vows whilst sky-diving; the idea of moving abroad to a colder wetter place than even good ol’ England; or the fact that you prefer to have sex on the roof for all your neighbours to see – whatever and however daunting the subject at the beginning stages, just say it how it is! Don’t flow
er it all up. If they appear to be that special someone you can envisage yourself with for the rest of your life, then bare all your dirty or embarrassing secrets and lay out all your baggage-filled cards on the table right there and then. There’s nothing wrong with doing it backwards so to say.

  Rather unearth that something you disagree with or the dislikes in someone before you devote all that time doing it the way we’re made to believe it’s expected to be done. Just because people have done it that way for years doesn’t mean that it’s the right way, or that it absolutely has to remain that way forever and ever. Amen. Things alter. They just do and guess what?...it’s allowed! Tailor your life as to how you see it to be.

  And believe it or not, the annoyances you learn about the other; they can sometimes even be fixed. You can overcome the uncertainties at the very beginning. Once all of that is out of the way, you can enjoy focussing on all the good that’s to come.

  Of course, if you realise their tendencies are too unbearable to accept or they’re completely unrepairable, well then yeah, I guess perhaps re-think things a little more; either way, you won’t have squandered away years of your precious life before finally reaching that point.

  Recognise when you have a good thing and keep a hold of it. Protect the fuck out of it and let nobody even think of attempting to come between you for any reason. And oh my god when you fit with tetris-like precision or when it feels like you’re being kissed as if it’s the first and last time, every single time, then know it’s right. Be confident that you’re with that special someone who will love you as intensely as you could ever hope for. Or when you’re at the point of feeling like you could swim across an ocean of drawing pins to get to that person, stay with it!