“Stop calling, stop calling, I don’t wanna talk anymore” Lady Gaga summed it up really. I got a case of tongue tied blues on the phone last night with an old flame (strictly one way traffic on that flame dear readers sadly).
Why is it that after weeks and weeks of texting and being a sassy, clever, quick witted and just a touch sarcastic version of myself, the version of myself that I think rocks, when they finally call and you open your mouth, all your skills, charms and faculties fly right out and abandon you? Suddenly you’re back to being a luddite.
Where was my sparkling wit? Where was my flirt dust? Goneski. Instead I’m reduced to a hair twirling, monosyllabic teenager again. Damn. I hate it when that happens. You feel like it’s all hanging in the balance, there you are trying to radiate your winning charm down the telephone line and come up with an amazing if slightly spin-doctorish blurb on your recent activities. “Sorry no time for thinking about you buddy, I’ve been way too busy, being fabulous and in-demand! I’m kinda of a big deal you know.” But no…. big fat zero. What have I been up to? Nothing much… just sanding my cabinet. I say a silent curse to Saint Bridget of Singletons who has pioneered this kind of mental abandonment when your brain goes ga ga.
And then all too quickly, he casually says goodbye, the line goes dead and your left hanging with all that pent up, missed opportunity fizzing in the air…. again.