Could it get any worse? Could I possibly feel more ridiculous than I do this very moment?
It’s been one of those amazing days, where you feel high as a kite and then something smacks you in the face, and you come soaring down, strings tangled, landing face first in the gravel.
Cast your minds back, if you will, to Marc. The gorgeous campsite man in Paris. Well, do you remember how I left a half eaten pack of carambars, a six-pack of beer and a note with my name on it before I left, with the vague hope that he might get in touch? Ok, so now we’re all on the same page.
After trawling through Facebook looking at all the Marc’s in the world, I couldn’t find him, so I admitted defeat, accepted fate and moved on. I put away my stalking hat and got on with my life, knowing that although I would never see him again, I’d be fine. I’m a big girl, I’d get over it. And I did. And a month on I haven’t thought about him once. Until today, when I got a notification saying that he’d added me as a friend on Facebook, which caused me to hyperventilate and giggle like an insane person on helium. I had a quick perusal of his profile, it was definitely him, same gorgeous smile, same amazing eyes, cheeky oh and 22! Ideal. Or so I thought.
One thing struck me as a little odd however. There seemed to be recurring pictures of him with this super cute little girl. Only a handful, but enough to make me think, ‘He kept being an Uncle very quiet, it’s hard to stop me talking about Sophie.’ This little girl looked uncannily like him as well, but then again people often say that Sophie looks like me, or my mum, family likeness is a definite thing. So I shrugged off the worry and continued being excited, wondering why he could possibly have added me. Could this be the start of something?
So later this evening, once I’d cleaned my profile up and got rid of some dud holiday snaps with me looking incredibly worse for wear, I confirmed our new Facebook friendship. Foolishly hoping to quash any fears that he might perhaps have fathered an adorable child.
Unfortunately those fears increased and cemented themselves in truth. Turns out the guy with the winning smile and the melted chocolate eyes is, a Dad; a great one at that by the looks of it, but a Dad nonetheless. Single but still a Father, a little life depending on him.
A real life Dad who selfishly abandons his daughter to travel around Monaco, Paris, Dominican Republic, most likely handing out false hope to other girls all the while. Did I mention Dad already?
And immediately my interest in him faded, dulled, extinguished, because the last thing I want is a guy with a child. I simply cannot fancy a guy with a daughter. Ain’t nobody got time for that. What a crying shame.
Then in my desperation I did something bad. I looked up the guy I met at church two weeks ago avec Facebook; I stalked his profile, and low and behold, he’s attached. To a girl with a ridiculous surname. Why there’s a refreshing change, strike a light I never saw that coming!
And after that low came a third, might as well make it a hattrick! So I stalked another new guy at church who I went to a lunch with only to see that he’s added the ‘pretty new girl’ as a friend on Facebook and not me, so they’re blatantly going to be a couple in the near future. Because she’s much prettier, skinnier and just heaps better than me. I may as well just give up now, throw in the towel and bulk buy some cats.
If you should ever deign to make an appearance/a move/any kind of motion towards me, I’ll be the girl choking on a furball. I’ll need either a good slap on the back or the full on heimlich. Nothing like breaking the ice, is there?