I went to Bali late last year for 10 days. Drank, ate, sunned myself in the company of 3 gorgeous girlfriends.
In the months proceeding said trip I had met literally my dream man. Like he’d stepped off the set of ‘Farmer Wants A Wife’; he was your true blood, life like country bumpkin. And I was smitten.
First kiss was staged magnificently on my behalf (I’d had a pre-crush you see: a crush which occurs before you even know them well enough to have a crush. Target acquired). Managed to get him invited to a rugby game courtesy of my best friends boyfriend, with whom he was best friends. Alarm bells should have been ringing at the stage, right? Well, someone forget to check my batteries at daylight savings cos I went along with it. Cornered him in a bar until 4 am when he had no alternative but to offer to walk me to a cab. Had a cheeky pash on Elizabeth Street before making a graceful lady- like exit.
Waited 3 weeks.
Seems the old three day rule doesn’t apply to those that have grown up outside at 500 km radius of the big smoke. Finally set up a date. I felt drunk with excitement before I’d even arrived. Felt super drunk as I left because I’d smashed a bottle of wine. But, another cheeky farewell pash. So far so good.
Whirlwind of dates followed. Met his mother, lunched with his brother, was his date at a charity ball at which he spoke (and we won the romantic weekend for 2 in the raffle), double dated with our mutual best friends. Wasn’t long before there were adult sleepovers but I held out long enough to know I liked him.
Thought it was all a little too good to be true. He was courteous, charming, making travel plans with me in mind… (How can you not love a man that makes plans!?). When I jumped on that Jetstar flight to Depensar not for a second did I contemplate that leaving him at home for 10 days could spell disaster.
My final day in Bali I decided to get my palms read. A good friend of mine had recently ended a long term relationship and was currently seeking not Susan, but answers. I went out of deference to her needs, only to be told in no uncertain terms that the man I was currently seeing was going to leave me.
Impossible. I’d already had one disastrous relationship end in dramatic fashion in 2012 (more on that to come.. I’m still not quite even sure how to start that story). And Cotton Eyed Joe was SO INTO ME. Sure enough, he texted later that afternoon asking me exactly what time I’d be home the following day, which in my mind cemented the fact that the old woman pretending to read my hands in Seminyak was a crack whore.
I love hindsight. It has that uncanny ability to make you feel foolish. In hindsight, I should have known that ‘old college friend’ translated to ‘love of my life that left me and I never truly got over it’. In hindsight, I should have had also know that ‘Oh, we haven’t seen Tim with another girl since Sarah’ was really a polite way of pointing out that my current beau had not been seen in public since his last relationship went pear shaped. And, in hindsight I should have known that ‘What time are you flying in tomorrow?’ really translated to ‘What time can I come over and break up with you?’
To his credit, he did it to my face and did not use the multitude of social media technological devices available to him. To my credit, I managed not to strangle him with the Bingtang singlet I’d purchased as a gift whilst simultaneously disembowelling him with the sharp edge of one of the bootleg DVDs I’d smuggled into the country for him. But I did tell him politely to ‘get the fuck out of my house’. Not my most witty line, yet totally effective.
Never did end up taking that romantic weekend away with Tim. Thought briefly at Christmas about sending it to him and Sarah as a present. Laughed a little, then thought better of it. Finally gave it to my folks.
In hindsight, a much less passive aggressive option. Whether you’re a country boy, or a big city girl, good manners never go out of style.