If this is a play…I’m exiting stage left!

Have you ever heard of the phrase “If it’s too good to be true…it probably is”? Yeah…me too. This short but significant anecdote has been niggling at the back of my mind for the past few weeks when I was with ‘Mr. Perfect’.
Mr.P burst into my life like a stream of warm light through a foggy haze and I subconsciously knew the light felt artificial, but embraced it nonetheless. He is ridiculously tall, chiselled features; jet black hair and green eyes that can evoke things in you that you didn’t know you felt. An aspiring actor, his talents were tenfold – playing piano minus sheet music, beat boxer, singer, swimmer, articulate, well educated with a background filled with such depth I felt my personal history was irrevocably inadequate. Apart from the above, he also mirrored my lifestyle in uncanny ways, for instance…I’m weird. I must have one and a half sugars in my coffee/tea. Not just one. Nah…not even two. One and a half, exact. So you can imagine my shock when, on our first coffee date together, he informs me he’s a bit OCD and must have exactly one and a half sugars in his latte. This deserved a black and white ‘Brief Encounter’ movie moment. *insert romantic theme music here*

This is all well and good, I hear you say, but what was he like towards you? That’s a valid question girls and what can I say…except he was Mr.P – perfect. He’d hold my hands across the dinner table (an Asian fusion restaurant with damn nice noodles!) and tell me I’m absolutely beautiful, I’m his dream come true and he wants to spend his life getting to know me and who I really am because I’m flawless. When he kissed me, he’d hold my face so delicately like I was some precious gem he was afraid to mark…sending unquestionable shivers down my tingling spine. Let’s not even delve into the calls and texts…okay let’s delve its fun… we would speak on the phone for hours and still want more. He was funny, cheeky and interesting with a deep hoarse voice that lingered in my mind. When he was out with the lads, I’d wake up to multiple texts from him telling me he misses me and he’s thinking of me and he adores me etc etc blah blah blah. We both felt (apparently BOTH) like we’d met the one and he’d say he couldn’t wait just to start our lives together. I know what you’re thinking ladies…this dream guy sounds too perfect. You’re right. He fucking was.

After spending the night at his, he goes off radar. I had more contact with a satellite orbiting outer space than I did him. Which left me somewhat confused considering the morning we woke up together he persisted to tell me he adored me and I’m potentially the one. Come Valentine’s Day I didn’t get so much as a text and the following day…blank. Finally, we had THAT phone call in which he states he’s just not ready for a relationship, that he does adore me and he’ll carry on supporting my career and when he’s with me he’s in it, like, in it but when he’s not…he’s not. Go figure? I was livid. Not because I gave a crap, but because he totally pushed me into the goddamn relationship in the first place! At every opportunity I suggested we see other people, or chill it out, but nooo he wanted ‘me all to himself’. Direct quote right there. Let’s face it girls, he’s an actor and he can deliver a line like no-one’s business…and boy did he deliver some lines!

So, who is to blame here? Is it shame on me for falling for every word he said, being ‘speeched’ up to the nines by a twenty-something London boy, or is it shame on him for rolling his dice before he even got on the board? I won’t be slating him because I genuinely do still rate the dude, but I certainly won’t be dating a thespian again. If it’s amateur dramatics he craves…he can stick to the stage. Talking of the stage, I failed to mention that the cherry on my blood red cupcake was all this exploded the day before I had tickets to go watch him in his Christopher Marlow (for those who are now lost, Marlow was a writer who inspired the great Shakespeare) play at the theatre. Did I still go? Of course I fucking did. I have enough self respect and pride to carry through my promises, even if he doesn’t.

So there I was, with my gay BF in toe (every girl needs a gay BF!), watching my less–than-24-hour-old-ex boyfriend in a gay play where he plays a gay guy who kisses another gay guy and then dies. Tragic. Was it wrong I got a tiny kick when his character was tied to the railings? I don’t think so! Although I shall admit that when he opened with his monologue and looked straight at me, I did struggle to catch my breath for a bit. When he bowed at the end, I clapped as expected (ironically clapping to this bizarre end of our relationship) and he looked directly into my eyes before leaving the stage, exit right. I went exit left. What a theatrical end to an overwhelming whirlwind dramatic relationship. Oh well, you know what they say… “All’s fair in love and war.”