The MTV Movie Awards have a "Best WTF Moment" category. Well MTV, I will see your nominations like the naked trunk surprise in The Hangover and raise you with this: My Friday Night.
Last Tuesday I got horrifically drunk at a work thing. (Don't drink on a school night ladies). Posh Work Guy and I had a discussion that night. A discussion that concluded with us agreeing that on Friday night we'd both be getting some action. With each other. But you all got that.
Thursday night I did a bit of sexfoliation- made even more difficult knowing that I had to go to work beforehand. Showed up at work on Friday and guess who wasn't in the office? He sometimes shows up later in the day because he has meetings so I wasn't too concerned but by one 1pm there was no still no sign. Knowing that I wasn't going to get much done unless I found out where he was and if I was going to get some, I text him. Turns out he was working from home. However, although I thought this meant my sexfoliation was a waste of time, the conversation turned to our 'arrangement'. We ended up having the same conversation we had on Tuesday. Just sober and via text message. It lasted a good 3 hours. Finally I said could we not just meet and discuss this because my head was hurting and I needed to do some work.
We agreed to meet at a pub near his. We met, we drank a bit, we chatted. A guy from work came into the pub and we made a hasty getaway. We went back to his where we cuddled on the couch watching TV. The conversation turned to our flurry of text messages that afternoon. Conclusion? We're friends now and we'll be friends afterwards. Fine. After that, things finally got moving.
And then, well, I'm confused. Things happened, my dry spell came to an end, but it wasn't well, good. Afterwards, he got up to go to the bathroom. When he came back, he was dressed. He asked if I wanted my clothes. Um, what? Well not really, but I figured I should probably get them. We went back in the living room and watched the news (yes, that's right, the news). I was thinking things were awkward. They were about to get a lot worse...
PWG: Sorry but I can't drive you home tomorrow.
(That was fine, having someone drive you around in London is a luxury and I knew he had to do some mechanical thingy to his car.)
Me: No problem. I'll get the tube.
PWG: And you won't be able to sleep in because I have to get up really early to get things done.
Me (half-jokingly): I can just leave now if you want.
Pause.
PWG: If you do then you can wake up tomorrow and know you don't have to go anywhere, won't that be nice?
Pause.
Me: Um, ok, I'll just finish my drink.
WTF?
By this point I didn't want to be there anymore and I didn't get what was going on. At all. I finished my drink and got my stuff together. When he opened the door to his apartment I suddenly clicked that he wasn't going to walk me to the tube station. I had only been to his twice before and had never gotten the tube. I only vaguely knew where the station was. I had to ask him for directions. And he still didn't walk me. He did ask me to text him when I got home. How chivalrous.
So there I am, walking in an area of London I don't know at all, in the cold, at 10.30 on a Friday night. I felt like a cheap call girl. I got home and emailed Vi and cursed the fact that we live in different continents, on different time zones and neither of us is rich enough to be able to afford transatlantic phone bills. Oh and I did text him simply saying: "I'm home." He replied saying have a nice weekend.
Have a nice weekend? If having a nice weekend involves being extremely upset and angry and convinced that I'm bad in bed well then I'm having a marvelous time.
Please, someone, tell me what the hell happened. It was all agreed, all cards on the table. This was going to be a bit of fun. Nothing was going to change. It's possible, look at Vi and the Dark Horse. Now I have to see him at work tomorrow. I want to yell at him, for not walking me to the station if nothing else, but I can't because I have to act like nothing has changed between us, all is fine, as we agreed.
Well all is not fine. And I did not agree to him treating me like this. And I'm really angry.
Fenella's Friday Night = Winner. Best WTF moment.
Grayer's night with KK's roomie = A very, very close second.
Vi getting dumped by the Dark Horse while she was in her underwear. Twice = Joint very close second.
We need to stop having these moments.
3 comments:
I too wished we didn't live on different continents Friday night (but I always wish that!). But you know you have 24-hour phone privileges and can skype my cell phone at any time.
All together now: You are not bad in bed. There is clearly something wrong with PWG. Getting dressed and watching THE NEWS after sex? Someone has some serious intimacy issues! It is, however, entirely possible that he has no idea that anything went wrong at all, and is unaware of his Extreme Fuckwittage. He may even want another go at it. And at that time, you will have the pleasure of calling him out on his fuckwittage and turning him down. And it will feel good.
Although you have an excellent idea: We should totally have the Bridget Awards. You know on the MTV movie awards when they win they get the golden tub of popcorn? We can hand out golden TUBS OF PISTACHIO ICE CREAM! If Tyra Banks can have her Fiercies, we can definitely have our own awards. What to call them? And what categories? I nominate PWG for Biggest Fuckwit!
Sorry Fenella! That really sucks. I think the best course of action here is to be a cool aloof ice queen. After all that is what Bridget would do.
Some female empowerment is in order! You don't need him. Remember you were only using him for action. You don't want another go at it. You never really liked him that much anyway. If the sex was bad, then it was him not you. (Maybe you should recommend She Comes First to him :-P)
This is weird. I'm sorry. Maybe if you had been talking about no strings attached sex, he was making damn well sure you understood it was in fact, no strings attached sex. There's nothing like watching news and shooing you out the door to get the point across. Don't take it personally. You're not bad in bed. He is what the french would "le douche"
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