Crossing The Rubicon
Here’s another thing about lawyers. They’re very difficult to shake once they get their teeth into a case. Mind you, in this instance it’s not necessarily just my case that this particular lawyer is getting her teeth into, but you get my drift…
Don’t get me wrong. I/we’re not ‘involved’. But this is a little bit more than “let’s just quit while we’re ahead” scenario and a little bit less than a “what are you thinking” obligation. Look if anything it’s really just another friends-with-benefits type thing I suppose, perhaps with one big difference. She might come home.
Now if you’ve been following my occasional pontificating at all you’ll know such an appearance across that welcome mat is a pretty big thing in my world. Indeed let me provide you with something of a staggering fact (well staggering to me anyway). Given I began my more recent so-called adventures at the age of twenty-nine (having had a fairly innocuous personal life during my so-called “Before”), even though I’m presently heading towards my thirty-sixth year and am now far more worldly wise to certain aspects of life’s pleasures that I wasn’t as wise to back then, not one of these said adventures (nope, not even those with Jane) ever took place under a Nebleet sky, or rather a Nebfleet flat’s ceiling. Events, dear boys and girls, events just don’t ‘event’ here.
Why? Well that’s been my choice. You see within these walls has always lain, in some respects, both my protection and BD’s fragility. A rather peculiar and yet nonetheless logical paradox if you think about it. Thus despite all my resentment about being labelled as too ‘dangerous’ to have any chance of a relationship or this peculiar ‘loneliness’ that appears to have set in which revolves more around me missing the wanting of somebody than me missing somebody I want, just letting anybody, and I mean anybody, through the door still remains something of a big deal; I mean that’s what I’ve invented the loo test for after all.
Like I just said though, that sort of stuff just doesn’t cut with some lawyers. Deconstructing arguments against (or for) is their very raison d’etre. So when you get asked the question “I want to come to you for a change,” you kind of know it’s one you ain’t gonna get to wriggle out of via this aforementioned disquiet. She’s got a point though; I mean usually it’s her flat to be fair (oh and her office a couple times, she’s a bit kinky that way) so she’s probably due a bit of quid pro quo.
My pal Sammie found it all very amusing when I told her over a catch-up drink. Sammie does this knowing look with her eyes sometimes that basically means, “I see” in the best jumping to conclusions way possible. But then Sammie is something of a romantic at heart where I’m concerned. Ever since I ‘fessed up about Jane she’s been waiting for something to ‘happen’ where me and whoever it is at the time are concerned. She can be as bad as my mother on that front. Well nearly as bad. Anyway Sammie really couldn’t see what the big deal was either. To use her vernacular, “It’s about bloody time you did!”
Daft isn’t it to be worrying about bringing a girl home at the age of thirty-five when you don’t even have to introduce her to your parents (I say ‘girl’, she’s got the odd year or five on me remember). In fact introducing her to my parents would be the easy bit probably – and you can bet my mother would be off out buying a new hat the next day!
I guess what’s really got me breaking out in a metaphorical cold sweat about Gina making this request (yes, belated information I know but her name’s Gina) is that I might have to introduce her to me.
God what a thought…
By Bastian Dash, you can read more of his musing about life and love on TBWxTra on your personal home page
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