Four hours to get ready, four hours to look completely fab, and look about two stone skinnier by wearing the right outfit. Problem is that there is no right outfit anymore, no clothes can contain the fact that I have gained weight since we had last met. It is all in the face, the face that has to be exposed because hair is dreadful. Hair is so dreadful, can only wear it in plaits, which I thought was fierce but really is only cute. I cannot look cute, need to look sexy and desirable. Trying to do a nice, voluminous hairstyle but hair too shit and flat and frizzy to shape. Plaits it has to be, cute I must be. Tried doing braids tighter to appear more fierce but instead cutting off head circulation and exposing chubby, chubby cheeks. Wearing all black, because didn’t feel like I should be too dressy (which later on I realised was a major mistake). I think it was safe to say that I was a little nervous, or completely. The fact that I had read a fact on Facebook earlier stating that ‘the human brain sees the person’s reflection 5x more attractive than other people see it’ really scared me, because I don’t think I look that great anyway. But I was going to be just me (without the drama).
It was 7 o clock, and I had spent three hours being half dressed and just hanging around. For the first two hours I had spent them lying in bed watching gossip girl, convincing myself that I wasn’t going because no one else was. I was fussing around for the thousandth time with my hair when there was an incoming phone call from fuck boy. I was a little bit shocked by this, he like never calls me, and I hadn’t even heard his voice in like a year. He briefly informed me that he was going on in one minute, listened to me stress about the fact that I wasn’t ready and hung up. I braided my hair once again in seconds, shoved on my coat and was out of the door…
winking into the mirror on my way out.
I didn’t want to be walking in whilst he was playing, I didn’t know if this was going to be an intimate gig or a busy one, but whatever it was I had promised that I was going to bury myself in the back of the crowd somewhere, somewhere close to the bar. I wanted to be strong and fabulous, command a room and have all envious eyes on me. I wanted to walk in like
When in real honesty I was a hot mess. My shaking legs carried a heart that was beating so hard that my chest was thundering, and my breath was as broken as running up one hundred steps. I walked into the busiest of bars, and was immediately taken aback. I was given instructions that lead me to a long queue into a mysterious room, inside a room. I could hear him, his lyrics. This was it.
I’ve not really been on stage much, and when I was I wasn’t focussed on looking out into the crowd. I’m not quite sure how it works with singers and what they do, but at one point I was convinced he saw me stood at the bar watching him. But maybe he didn’t, the room was overcrowded. His performance was over, and the only thing I can remember about it was how nervous I was. I kept looking out for him in the crowd, but never did I see him. I hate being on my own, I never go out alone, and certainly never to bars on my own. I was glued to bar, already tipsy being pushed around by couples who persisted on hugging each other every ten minutes. It was annoying being reminded in every second that you were here alone. I was there for three hours, swaying half cut to music that I didn’t enjoy, by this time I had seen him in the crowd, but was not approaching but hoping he would see me instead and rush to my side. But no such thing was happening, and the room was beginning to empty as the performances came to a close. I had grabbed him on the way out, it was weird in the way that we reacted to each other for the first time. It was loud and I couldn’t hear him, I think we hugged and did the formalities but he said something and then walked off, which I just took as a cue to follow, which I awkwardly did.
He was with a friend, and it was probably a good thing because I don’t know how things would have been with just the two of us. Conversation wasn’t difficult, the eye contact thing was a little weird all night but I think that was probably down to me. Already on the party train I was planning on making a night of being sick and getting drunk, I had a friend that I was meeting an hour after the gig but the boys showed no want or interest in getting down and dirty. It was disappointing actually, how boring they were. My friend came over, supplied them with drinks and fuel for any good night, but they kept yawning and my patience was thinning. I really wanted it to work, but obviously fuck boy wasn’t that into it. I think he wanted to leave, so I don’t see why he didn’t. It had been a thought of mine that the night would have answered questions that I wasn’t brave enough to ask, but if anything it left me more confused and pissed off. They did come out with us to one pub, and then the night was over. I have nothing to report because it was boring. They came back to mine to end up going back on a night bus, by this point I had had enough of it all, and fuckboy proved to be fuckboy. So as the perfect hostess I was I escorted them to the door and couldn’t shut it quick enough.
There was the end to that summer romance then. PS it has been a week and a half since that night, and I have received no word, no text, no sign from fuckboy to say thank you or anything. THE BASTARD.