So you remember the super cute Aussie who left me hanging in the bathroom with nary a second phone call in sight? Well fast forward one week to a Friday night in the theatre. A regular, everyday, ordinary night where I'm working box office and things seem as they should be. Until Aussie walks in. With a girl.
She looks like any other girl. Tallish. Blondish. Attractivish. A generic 80's name. Non-descript style. Nothing special is what I'm saying. I'm not trying to be harsh or anything, she just wouldn't stand out in a crowd. Or a mirror, for that matter.
Point being, I ask (with my biggest, brightest smile) how long they've known each other and she (innocently) tells me they've been dating since New Year's.
Excuse me??? Dude, we were just out like a week ago. I understand that it ended badly but you couldn't have known that going in!!! Maybe I came off as friendly and non-threatening, thus he didn't even consider me a date?!?! Or perhaps they're just "seeing each other" as we've already established that he's leaving the hemisphere in a few months. Am. Having. An. Identity. Crisis.
Breathe....Relax....Slow Down....Think....Stay Calm....Keep Cool....Just Smile....
Phew, they've gone into the theatre. I am alone with my vivid imagination and interminable self-doubt for at least another hour before they re-emerge.
Except he pops back out 10 minutes after the show has started to "use the loo."
*How come everything sounds cuter in a foreign accent, even using the potty???*
He's been in there for a while...perhaps I should check on him? Nah...
He goes back into the theatre. Can now stop worrying if my lip gloss has remained intact.
He's back out again. What the fuck??? It's been at least 10 more minutes that he's been in the loo the second time in half an hour and I'm starting to worry. Alright, I'm going to check on him.
(Knocks on door.) "Hey, are you ok in there?"
Him: "Yeah, I think I just ate something funny at dinner. My stomach isn't really agreeing with me right now."
Me: "Do you want me to get you some water?"
Him: "That would be amazing, actually."
(Gets water. Passes it to him through a slight opening in the door.) "Do you want some Mentos? Mint is supposed to calm the tummy."
Him: Yeah, that'd be superb, if you've got'em."
(Gets Mentos out of purse. Passes through crack in door again whilst holding breath because Oh. My. God. the smell...)
I go back to my little box office and wait. He eventually emerges and crashes out on the sofa next to my table. He looks (and smells) like death. I ask if he'll be ok and he says he's feeling much better. I ask if what's-her-face will be ok in there without him. He tells me he's sure she's fine, she was chatting with someone in the row next to them before the show and they got on nicely. So she's not alone or anything.
But she doesn't come out to check on him AT ALL and the boy was sick for nearly an hour. What kind of girlfriend is that?!?!
The moral of the story is this: If you are the kind of boy who makes my heart flutter and you happen to be with me at the unfortunate moment when I discover that I am now lactose intolerant and I have a major intestinal breakdown and then you abandon me, thus shattering all future heart flutterings...then you show up with a girlfriend you never mentioned...you will be struck down with Montezuma's Revenge before my very eyes.
Of course, I'm a nice enough (read: stupid enough) person where I'll take care of you even when your generic date does not, in the futile hopes that this will make you want to be with me. I will still be shocked and sad when said tactic fails to engage. Alas, my sweet kangaroo, you are on your own from here-on-out. Enjoy the milkshake.
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