The Christmas party

I’ve never been in a relationship over Christmas before. So when I started dating Emily in early December, I began thinking it might be the year that I’d finally be able to sing along to Mariah Carey while truly understanding and appreciating her words. With Mariah’s lyrics ringing in my ears, I was thrilled to think of the potential that all someone would want for Christmas would be me.

We’d enjoyed a couple of very pleasant dates and when she text to invite me to her place for an “intimate Christmas dinner and drinks” with a close group of her friends one snowy evening, I was delighted. The day prior, she text me:


Even better! She was clearly keen to spend some time alone with me. I could picture the scene already: a crackling fire, some classic Christmas music in background, mulled wine flowing, wrapping presents, decorating the tree together, me making an innocent comment about her ‘pulling my cracker’, which she misinterprets, and we then have a jolly good laugh about it for some time. Perfect!

I pop on my best Christmas jumper, pick up a bottle red and a pack of mince pies and head to her place.

She swiftly gives me the tour and shows me in to the living room. A room which couldn’t look less Christmassy if it tried. I look around. No tree, no anything. Emily pushes open the door to the kitchen.

“Okay, so here are the boxes,” she asserts, starting to point at things. “The tree is in that box there, tinsel in that one, ornaments in that one and everything else is in that one there.” Emily looks back at me and then the bottle of Merlot in my hand. “Oh if you’re going to drink that can you do it in the kitchen? It’s a new carpet and I don’t want to stain it.”

“Oh are you not-…”

“Same with those mince pies. I don’t want to find crumbs when I come back.” she adds, with a laugh in her voice but daggers in her eyes.

“Wait, aren’t are you-…”

“I’m just going to pop out to get something to wear for tonight. I wont be long. Good luck, see you later!” she says with rapid-fire, grabbing her coat and bag and leaving the flat before I could ask her what the hell she was playing at.

It takes me a good fifteen minutes of standing still and staring at the ground to fully comprehend what is happening. She didn’t really want to spend quality time with me, did she? She didn’t really want to decorate together or get to know each other better or practise a duet to Fairytale of New York with me. Basically, she just hadn’t gotten around to decorating her house and wanted someone to do it for her. There’d be no Christmas music or crackling fire…. I started to doubt I’d even get to use any of the bauble-based innuendos I had prepared on my way over.

Close to two hours go by. I’d never before had to fully assemble and decorate a full-sized Christmas tree on my own and I don’t I fancy doing it ever again. I take it like a man though and decorate the crap out of that flat. I’m now incredibly sweaty, tired and pissed off, though, but the place was looking great. Emily texts me to say she’d been ‘held up’ and was on her way back. I took in my handy work, proud at my accomplishment. I celebrated with a glass of red and a mince pie. In the living room. Lying down. On her new carpet. No plates. No napkins. “Screw her,” I mumble to myself, mouth full of mincemeat.

I freshen myself up a bit try and focus on the positives. It would be worth it when everyone arrives and they see what I’d done for Emily. I reminded myself that the fun part was still to come and that I’d demonstrated my value, at least. It was the most gruelling manual labour (and I’m counting it as that) that I’d done in a long time. And I’d done it for a girl. I could literally feel myself maturing.

Emily returns and is suitably excited at the transformation. I grab her a glass and start pouring her a wine and tell her to sit down and put her feet up. She stays standing though and starts fidgeting with her phone.

“Everything okay?” I inquire.

“Yeah….well….ah, you know what? I’m so sorry James I totally forgot that I’d actually arranged tonight as a girl’s night only. They’ll be here soon so….”



“Oh! Oh, okay I see. Right well, that’s a shame, I-…..” but before I can continue, Emily thrusts my coat at me and starts ushering me along her hallway to her front door, accompanied by plenty of “so sorry’s” and faux embarrassment. I stand there at her door, a little taken aback.

“I’ll give you a text, James, yeah? Soon, yeah?”

I spot the mistletoe above her door frame.”Oh, okay no problem,” I reply, before looking up at the mistletoe, smiling a wry smile and looking back at her. My eyes saying, “do you see what I see?”

She glances up and then back at me.

“Oh yeah I forgot about that,” mutters Emily, a little less enthused than I’d have liked.

I give her one of my top three best smiles, and tell myself that at least I’ll get a Christmas kiss out of all of this. I pucker up, close my eyes and lean in. But before I could feel her lips on mine, the door slams shut, my nose pressed up against it and I open my eyes to a face full of Christmas wreath and plastic berries.

I frown, turn away dejected, exhausted and shuffle down her stairs and out of her building. I can hear Mariah Carey’s All I Want For Christmas blaring out from one of her neighbours windows and I take in a deep sigh and stifle a fair amount of swear words from exiting my mouth.

I look over at the flat and see written above the letter box in red glittering letters: ‘Tis the season of goodwill!’

I laugh to myself at the irony. “Aye, you’re not wrong there,” I mutter as I trudge out in to the snow.

Merry Christmas everyone.



The ex-boyfriend

“It’s very red,” I say, pulling out my chair and looking around.

“This is my favourite place to eat in the whole world,” Karly beams as we settle down to a meal in what was roughly our fourth or fifth date. “Don’t you just loooove it?”

“It’s quite red, though, isn’t it? Does it all need to be this red?” I ask, examining the red leather chairs.

“That’s the best part!” she says, playing with the red candle on the table. “I come here all the time. I thought you’d love it.”

“It’s just a bit red,” I say, quietly in to my drinks menu.

I had met Karly a month or so previously through a friend at work. We had been getting on well but we had very little in common. You know when you really like someone, you just don’t know why? This was the curious case with Karly.

“So, Karly,” I say brightly as we wait for our drinks to arrive. “I have an extra ticket to see a comedian next Saturday and wondered if you’d be interested in coming with me?”

Karly looked puzzled. “A comedian? What do you mean?”

“As in a famous stand-up comedian. He’s playing here next week and I wondered if you’d want to see him with me?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t really get comedy.”

I pause for a second, thinking I may have misheard.

“You don’t get comedy?” I ask.

“No. Not really.”

“How can you not get it though? It’s a fairly straightforward concept to grasp!”

Wasn’t it?

“I mean, if I went to see the comedian…I wouldn’t know what to do,” she tries to explain.

“What to do? The ‘doing’ is pretty minimal. You sit there and laugh if you find it funny.”

“Nah, I don’t like the idea of that. Sorry.”

“You don’t like laughing?” I ask jokingly.

Karly shrugs her shoulders in a no-big-deal kind of way.

Wow. Okay, I was dating a girl who didn’t ‘get’ stand-up comedy. Not to panic. I mean, it’s not for everyone. So what if going to see live comedy was a favourite activity of mine, one which I’d like to do with a girlfriend one day. So what if I regard it as one of the most important and skilled entertainment arts there is? That’s okay she’s not in to it. Laughing is obviously not for everyone, apparently.

“Okay, no problem. No big deal. Maybe we could go see and movie or something sometime?” I offer as a compromise.

“I hate the cinema.”

I nearly choke on my beer.

“You hate the cinema? That’s a strong word isn’t it? Again, it’s just sitting in a dark room watching a film on a massive screen..!”

“Yeah, but I just think it’s a waste of time. Plus all those people there…and what if you hate the movie? You’ve just wasted a couple hours,” says Karly, rather nonchalantly, sipping away on her red wine.

My mind was all over the place. In the space of five minutes she’s effectively vetoed two of my favourite pastimes!

“So you don’t think you’d be up for coming with me to see stand-up, or to the cinema? At all? Ever?”

“Sorry! I don’t think so. Not my cup of tea,” she adds, firmly.

On reflection I probably should have asked for the bill right there and then. I didn’t want to panic, though. So what she didn’t enjoy those two things? So what if I love those two things? It’s good to be with someone with different interests, isn’t it?

As we wait for the mains to arrive, I try and move past the awkwardness I was feeling and launch in to one of my trademarked and remarkably hilarious and fascinating anecdotes. Half-way in and gaining momentum, I catch her placing her mobile phone on the table and then begin to look down at it every few seconds.

Although it is a bit of a pet peeve of mine, particularly on a date, I don’t let it faze me. Maybe she’s expecting an important call? Maybe she’s on call for work? Either way, I give her the benefit of the doubt. I am too polite to ask and I continue showcasing my exceptional conversational skills, but just when I brace myself for the expected hysterical laughter and admiration, her phone beeps. I pause.

“Sorry….”, she says with an embarrassed smile. I give a half-smile back and hesitantly delve back in to my story.

“So, yeah, as I was saying…it was just me, I didn’t know where I was and these three goats just standing there and then the priest shouts….” but I’m stopped in my tracks. I glance back up at her to see she’s now nose-deep in her phone, texting away like a women possessed, not paying the slightest bit of attention to what I am saying.

I take a sip of my beer through gritted teeth and clear my throat, ever so subtly.

I wait a few seconds for her to finally finish her text and put it back on the table.

“Everything okay?” I ask, masking my annoyance.

“Oh, sorry James,” she says. “That was Rob. He keeps cancelling our plans on me!”

“Oh, right. As I was saying…we’re in this strangers bathroom and …….Wait, you’re ex Rob? You still see him? After what you told me last week?”

She and Rob had a terrible break-up, apparently, which I heard all about on date two. They met on holiday, were in a relationship for a little under a year and one day when she popped over to his house to surprise him, his pregnant wife answered the door.

“Yeah, we see each other all the time. We’re friends now. Didn’t I mention that? He’s actually a nice guy,” she says.

Is he? Is he now? Are you sure? I was having a hard time with this revelation, I’ll admit. I didn’t know the guy but everything she had told me that night led me to hate him with the fury of a thousand suns. So the fact she only now tells me they’re mates made me a little uncomfortable. I try to laugh it off and we move the conversation on.

It’s on my mind now though and I’m not sure if I am more annoyed at her being friends with her asshole ex, or that she brazenly will start texting him while we’re on and date, and when we are in mid-conversation. It’s just rude!

It’s the following day, and Karly invites me to her place as she’s having a group of friend’s over for a bit of a gathering. I was still reeling a bit from the night before. The comedy, the cinema, the text-rudeness and ex-boyfriend revelations were still a little fresh and rattling around in my mind.

I do my best to make a good impression with her friends and I think they start to warm to me. Especially her male friends. I got the sense they knew she could be difficult and had sympathy for my efforts. Things were going very well although Karly herself was acting a little distant.

Then, something I was not totally prepared for. The doorbell goes and It’s Rob. I am pretty taken aback, and her friends are visibly split on his inclusion in proceedings too. Karly looks thrilled though as Rob saunters in to the thick of the party. He was all taller and better built than me, with better hair and what looked like a far more expensive and fashion-conscious style.

Not that I was feeling threatened or anything.

I wasn’t. Because he also had the smarmiest, smugiest (it’s word…) face I think I’ve ever seen. And after engaging in a couple minutes of light ‘banter’ I realise he also the personality of an old, unused wardrobe.

The night wares on and I do my best to stay out of his way. It’s getting late though and the handful of guys remaining gather in the kitchen, drink beer and talk about sports, cars, and sports-cars, while the women laugh and joke together in the living room. Rob is lingering too and I desperately try not to make things awkward and just look the other way. Literally and figuratively.

Conversation soon turns to my relationship with Karly. Her male friends are intrigued as to how things are going and I try not to let too much slip out, but my frustration had been gathering momentum and with 12 hours of drinking behind me I, momentarily and, without mentioning Rob, let the guys know about the texting-while-chatting over dinner the night before. It feels good to get sympathy from her friends and to get some reassurance that she can just be socially difficult sometimes.

The night ends and I head off home, with a lot on my mind. The next morning I head to the beach for a hangover-clearing walk and think long and hard about what to do next.

Then, as I I’m sat on a bench emptying sand from my shoe and remembering why I don’t often go to the beach, my phone beeps. It’s Karly.


Bollocks. She was angry, clearly. But what had she heard? Did she hear something out of context? I try to remember what I said and scratched my head at anything overly offensive or hurtful. Over the next hour or two I try asking, explaining, reasoning, but it isn’t working. I ask that we meet face to face instead to discuss properly but she’s having none of it. Then she texts:


Of course he did. We exchanged a few more texts. I apologised for my part in talking to her friends about something she deemed private but it seemed her mind was made up.

Karly and I naturally lost contact after this, but a few months ago I heard on the grapevine that she’s now engaged to be married. To Rob.  He left his pregnant wife for Karly, who had clearly forgiven him for his previous misgivings and they’d gotten back together a couple of weeks after Karly and I stopped seeing each other.

You have to laugh, really, don’t you?


The great escape

I was in a nightclub and it was getting late.

My dancing pace had slowed to a lethargic shuffle and my mind had started thinking about what takeaway I was going to pick up on my way home. When I realised my eyes had been involuntarily closed for the past five minutes or so, I decided it was probably time to go home.

I made the sorry guys I’m knackered so going to head home but you stay and I’ll see you tomorrow mime to my friends and began making my way through the gathered crowds outside the club door. Then, suddenly, I heard my name being called out. I looked around and it was Claire.

I had been on a few dates with Claire about four months before but she then had to go abroad for her studies and we just lost contact. Her cute and friendly face was in stark contrast to her athletic physique. She towered over my fairly substantial 6’1″ frame and had firmer abs than I did (though admittedly not difficult). She was a fiercely competitive type and was a member of her University’s rowing and tennis teams.

She also liked a good drink and a night out, as was evident when she approached me outside the club to say hello.

I had barely told her about my night before she had me pressed up against the wall. I couldn’t quite believe my luck. I was flattered but I was also tired, alone, hungry and wanted my bed. Without anyone else in it. But I was also single and not one to turn down such promising advances.

“Michelle’s coming back to ours for a bit of an after party!” she said excitedly while gesturing to her friend, who could barely stand.

I half-heartedly suggested I was too tired and should go home but Claire was insistent and I’m incredibly weak willed with women. Plus, she was quite an intimidating lady to disagree with.

“Look, Michelle’s got a man and now I have you. Perfect. Let’s get a taxi,” said Claire rather proudly which did my ego no harm.

I looked over at Michelle’s man. Easily 6’5″, shaved head, neck tattoos and a face only a mother could love. Though Michelle too, it seemed.

We bundled in to a taxi and sped off. I sat next to Claire, opposite Michelle and her Scary Man. Scary Man kept his eyes fixed on to mine for the whole journey, bringing out a wry smile every few minutes, all the while Michelle had her tongue in his ear and her hand on his crotch. It was most disconcerting.

We arrived at Michelle’s flat and after short while of inane small talk Michelle and Scary Man had vanished elsewhere, leaving Claire and I alone. She didn’t hold back either. She pinned me down on the sofa using her far superior strength. It was a turn on, but also ever so slightly frightening.

Just when things were hotting up, however, I noticed something.

I couldn’t believe I hadn’t noticed it before now. Because Claire was young, and a student, I hadn’t thought to even check.

“Is that….is that a wedding ring?” I asked cautiously. Claire froze for a second and then looked at her hand.

“Oh, yeah…yeah it is. Don’t worry,” she replied nonchalantly and continued kissing me as if it was no big deal.
“Wait, hold on. You’re married? You know….we can’t do this, right?” I said, disappointedly.
“Because of that!” I snapped and pointed to the ring.

Without taking her eyes off mine, Claire’s response was to immediately remove the ring and put it on the table.

“There. Problem solved.”
“That’s not what I meant!”
“Oh, well what’s the what’s the problem?”
“The problem is your married and its not fair on your husband. I can’t do it.”
“But, he’s fine with it! We have an understanding! I thought you knew that?”
“How could I possibly know that?”
“We’ll, I thought you would have guessed….considering.”

I thought for a second but had nothing. I gave Claire a ‘what the hell are you talking about’ shrug. She rolled her eyes and slowly turned her head towards the room Michelle and Scary Man had entered.

What? No. It couldn’t be. Surely not? Scary Man was Claire’s husband?

I looked at Claire, jaw on the floor. I then remembered the taxi journey. Scary Man’s eyes fixed on to mine….his wry smiles.

“We like to mix things up sometimes. We’ve known Michelle for years. Come, on, we can go join them…”

You know in life when there are clear moments with two distinct roads you can go down and there’s just no way of knowing which will end up being the best choice? Well, needless to say this was one of them.

Panic set in. Claire’s eyes changed. She started looking quite threatening and I got a little scared. She gave me a look that suggested she was telling me to stay, rather than asking.

“No, sorry, I better go,” I spluttered and moved towards the door. Claire grabbed my arm though and pushed me down on the sofa. “Don’t be such a bitch James! Stay!”

“Sorry Claire, I just can’t. I better go,” I replied, rather pathetically. I rushed for the door and desperately tried the handle but it was locked. I searched the hallway for a set of keys, but nothing.

“I can’t get out. The doors locked!” I yelped, a little too high-pitched for a man of my age.
“Oh, yeah, you’ll need the keys,” replied Claire, clearly unhappy with me.
“Where are they then?”
“I’m not telling you. I want you to stay. If you want to go you’ll have to find them.”

At that moment I really didn’t know who I was now more afraid of: Claire or her and Michelle’s Scary Man. I searched every tabletop and drawer in every room for the keys, with no luck.

All but one room.

The room with Michelle and the Scary Ma- sorry I mean Claire’s husband, were doing god-knows-what. I had no choice though. I had to get out of there.

Slowly pushing the door open I stuck my head around it before tiptoeing in. I knew this was risky. I knew if I woke this man up now, I’d probably be leaving the place without all of my teeth.

I stood at the end of the bed, looking down on them, feeling a bit like a creepy Santa Claus. I peered down, as my eyes struggled in the darkness.

I looked around the room as much as I possibly could with minimal lighting, movement or making any noise. As I turned to leave the room defeated, the reflection of something shiny caught my eye on the bedside table next to the snoring Scary Man. The keys! The keys to freedom!

How would I get them though? He was turned facing that side of the bed, nose practically resting on the bedside table. He would clearly feel my presence over him trying to grab the keys. In that moment, I knew what I and to do.

I took a deep breath and I slowly lowered myself down, bending on to my knees, and then on to my stomach.

I paused to reflect for just a second. It’s not often I find myself lying flat out on the floor, at the foot of a strangers bed, in a strangers house, in the middle of the night.

I snapped out of it though and began to slowly army-crawl my way along the length of the bed towards the bedside table, being careful to be as absolutely silent as possible.

I made it to the bedside table and looked up. I kept my eyes fixed on his closed eyelids as I brought my arm up to the table top and began to feel my way towards the keys. I knocked over a small pile of loose change and froze, heart-thumping, as he subconsciously reacted with a sleeping head-nod and a sniffle. I waited for him to fall silent again and eventually got my pinkie wrapped around the keying. I slowly prized it from under the layers of debris, stopping every few seconds to make sure I didn’t awaken the snoozing psychopath.

The keys were mine. I started my backwards crawl, mindful to avoid carpet burn on any sensitive body parts. I made it out of the bedroom with delight and fear running through my veins in equal measure.

I gave Claire a glance as I fumbled with the keys in the lock. Thankfully, though, she was already now fast asleep on the sofa.

Hands shaking, I posted the keys back through the letter box and eventually made it on to an unfamiliar street. Eyes bleary, I had no idea where I was. I looked up at the sky. It was that time where night turned to morning and I looked at my watch. 4:53am.

Looking around me, I made a judgement call as to which direction civilisation was and started walking. As I began walking my phone beeped. It was one of my friends from earlier in the club.


I hit ‘reply’ and spent the whole walk home home thinking about where to start.


The hamster


The first two dates had gone rather well by all accounts. Kelly was very sweet but was also very quirky which I liked. I figured that’s why she was single though, as I could imagine it scaring off some guys.

During the second date I mentioned to her that I thought she was quirky and she said she’d heard it before. She mentioned that she completed a quiz in a recent issue of Cosmopolitan where it works out the personality types of singletons and that it came to the same conclusion as I did. I had no idea Cosmopolitan did this kind of thing and started to dread what ghastly conclusion it would have for me as to why I was still single.

We decided that date three would be pizza, wine and a movie at her place. Perfecto! Result! Cash back! Back of the net!

(In heindsight that response maybe came out a little too enthusiastically down the phone to her when she suggested it).

I arrived at her place and was promptly given the tour.

‘Oh, and this is my room’, she said and opened a door to the promised land.

It was not what I expected, however.

A sea of pink, the walls were covered with pop groups and Disney characters. Stuffed toys dominated her bed and I spotted at least three unicorn paintings. It was, essentially, what can only be described as an 11 year old girl’s bedroom.

‘Quirky’ was quickly starting to mean something very different.

‘This…is your room?’
‘Yep! It’s sweet, right?’, Kelly replied.

(A pause)

‘Emm…uh huh.’

I was convinced she was winding me up and that she maybe had a secret daughter or something. But no. It was her room. I was shocked, but my friends always tell me not to be put off so easily by little things. So she was just clinging on to her childhood. Big deal. Nothing too wrong with a 24 year old girl decorating her room like this is there? What? There is?

Kelly asked me to pick a DVD and she confirmed we’d watch it in her room, on her bed, which under normal circumstances would be cause for mild celebration. I looked at her DVD collection: Little Mermaid, Lady and the Tramp, Beauty and the Beast, Aladdin, Lion King….you get the idea.

‘So many to chose from!’ I said, with hint of nervous laughter.

I eventually chose the most ‘adult’ film in her collection which, would you believe, was Hairspray. You know, the one with singing and colours and John Travolta dressed as a woman. We watched. I endured. Once that ordeal was over with, we were still laying on her bed, we ate the pizza and drank the wine. The crazy bedroom decor aside, we were actually getting pretty cosy (maybe it was the wine) and things ended up getting a little heated. You know, as they would. We kissed for what felt like a week and garments started to fly.

She then leaned in close and whispered to me:

‘I like you’
‘I….like you too’, I replied, trying to hide my slight hesitance.

(A pause)

We looked in to each others eyes for a second, she bit her bottom lip then leaned in close to my ear and whispered again:

‘Would you like to play with my hamster?’

(A further pause)

She smiled.

Interesting. But hey, maybe this is what all girls called ‘it’ these days. It might be all over Cosmopolitan for all I knew!

‘Suuuuure….’ I replied, slightly bemused. She excitedly jumped up off the bed and started rummaging beneath it as I looked on. That must be where she keeps her saucy lingerie, I thought.

Then, she pulled out a rattling, metal cage. ‘Look!’ she yelped. And there it was. An. Actual. Hamster.

(More pausing)

(In fact, I think I went a solid 6 or 7 minutes before I spoke again)

She took out the hamster and started playing with it in her arms before thrusting it in my face and demanding I also played with it.

‘Do you want to play with Annie? I think she likes you!’

So she has a pet hamster. That she hides under her bed and brings out for guys she brings home to play with. Maybe that’s what all the girls do these days. It might be all over Cosmopolitan for all I knew!

I politely declined initially, a response which seemingly broke her heart judging by her reaction. I eventually caved and before I knew it I was, you know, playing with a girl’s hamster. I tried to comprehend what was happening. A second ago we were kissing and de-clothing and now (and try picturing this) all of a sudden here I was, a 24 year old man, sitting cross legged, half naked, on a girl’s child-like bed, playing with a hamster. An actual hamster. I figured as long as it didn’t go near my groin, we’d be okay. The last thing I wanted was to terrify the poor thing. Or injur myself.

It hit 3am. Still slightly disillusioned by the whole turn of events and my surroundings, I eventually made my excuses and left. My eyes were heavy and in truth I was a little anxious about what I might wake up to. Or next to.

I apologised, shuffled out of the room and made my way home.

Not before stopping at the 24 hour garage to pick up a copy of Cosmopolitan.


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