A Spot of Self-Denigration

You know what this is really about don't you? Hell hath no fury like a woman spurned. But even that fury is nothing compared to the fury of a woman pushed to the limits of her endurance for years and years and then spurned.

I'm going to lay off Him for a bit and have a pop at myself for a change. I did something last night that was not in theory that twatty, but it is making my skin crawl and wrecking my day.

The Prince of Wales was having its big St George's Day party all day yesterday. My house is only about 50 yards away so I could hear the excited squeals of people having their fish and chips and going on the bouncy castle. About 9pm, I went outside to get my recycling bin and heard the M*******s playing, a band whose members are Friends of Weasel. (I'd love to give them a plug with their real name cos they're good, but would make it too easy to link it all up and don't yet want Weasel publicly humiliated) . So I thought I'd pop along and listen. Sounds all natural and lovely so far.

The pub was stuffed to the gunnels with friends of Weasel and they all fecking ignored me, it was horrible, I had to stand at the edge with my glass of wine making grim sub-dancing moves and feeling so out of it it wasn't true. I think a few people even did that thing when they stare at you and when you turn to look at them they turn away.

After a bit the band took a break and I took my wine outside and tried to chat to a couple of women that I know. They weren't having it either and I was left on my own in a mass of chattering people feeling like a COMPLETE TUBE.

In an attempt to save the situation I sat down next to a fat glum guy and gave him my very best dazzling patter. Which did at least cheer him up. His mates turned up and waggled their eyebrows at him, saying "Get in there, mate" in every possible way without actually speaking. His mates soon said "We're going in now mate cos its cold" to leave Fatso to his destiny with the desperate over-friendly woman. As they left Fatso got up too and said he had enjoyed talking to me very much but had to go inside with his mates.

So I was home again by 10, drunker and more humiliated than when I had gone out, and make no mistake, I was fairly drunk and humiliated even then.

Just to make things worse, I texted Weasel to tell him I had met a man from Cardiff. Then I followed up with another text saying "PS He was a fucking misery. Even worse than you".

Oh God. Do I feel better now? Nope.