Jet Lag
Am now home from a wonderful week in Atlanta helping my best girlfriend with her two week old baby boy.
A long time ago, one weekend she drove through a hurricane with her boyfriend, now husband, to help me clear out my dead mother’s closet. As we took the umpteenth load of clothes to the hospice shop, I promised her I would make it up to her one day.
When she called last July to tell me she was expecting, I immediately called Mr. Magnolia and told him. He was wonderful about it. See he loves her too – you just can’t help falling head over heels in love with Tammy.
Arrived after my first flight without the boys in 3 years. Nine hours of movies, naps and red wine. Bliss.
I took MARTA (aka Tube) from the airport north and Tammy’s gorgeous husband picked me up at the station near their house. I ran up to him and jumped into his arms. A big ole handsome bear of a guy with a Southern accent that you just wouldn’t believe. He took one look at me and said girl you are skinny as a bean pole! Do people not eat in England?!?
We drive to the house and there she is with this spanking new baby and I hugged them both so. The relief and joy you feel when you have been far from home and through a lot and then to be with people that are your home …. its hard to describe.
We have shared so much over the last 20 years. University. Becoming independent women. Losing a parent (me). Losing a sister (her). My marriage crumbling; hers blossoming and deepening. Now motherhood.
The first morning there I was up at 5am like I always am because of jet lag. I tossed and turned and tried to re-settle but it was hopeless. Got up and made a cup of tea and stared tidying up the post baby mess that was presents and flowers and gifts and cards strewn everywhere. I emptied the dishwasher. Loaded the sterilizer. Had a bowl of Cheerios.
Not much else to do until the house was up. I was staying in the study so I thought, hell, I’ll check my emails.
And I’ll be dammed, an email from yep, you guessed it, the T-Rex. Quick update here. Since he texted me at New Year, we (mostly he) started the Jane Austen email thing a-bloody-gain. Him in Australia doing all his boys with toys thang (skydiving, scuba, etc) wondering to me via email if you damn well please whether he should marry Solid Wifely Potential or if he and I had ‘unfinished business.’
Yes, I know he is a twat ya’ll.
Of course we have and will always have unfinished business.
There are so many things he and I will never do together. The endless shag-a-thon that would be our marriage. Africa. Making two more beautiful children. A few messy mad dogs to take care of. Him teaching me how to ski. Lots of fights. Lots of make up sex. A life lived, together.
So I figured what the hell, it was the bottom of the ninth and the bases were loaded, so it didn’t really matter what I emailed back.
I emailed him all of the above. Told him how I’d deleted him from my phone back in October. Told him he was fucking up big time and that he should pour himself a scotch and just propose to that poor girl he’s not in love with.
Huge sigh and relief. An email that will be one, great for the book and two, would surely would have any man run for the hills never to be heard from again.
Er, of course not, this is the T-Rex we are talking about.
God almighty, were real dinosaurs this hard to kill off millions of years ago?!?!
He actually God bless him and kick him in the nuts all the same time, emails me back and says while he will probably propose to Solid Wifely, he wants to and I quote, beat a path to my door clutching a bottle of champagne, a tub of ice cream (the mind boggles I know), naked but for a rose clamped between his teeth and follow his passion … me.
Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. I said, Darling, we get one life. So do it right or not at all. I plan on doing it right from now on so I never want to hear from you ever again unless it is because you have beaten a path to my door….etc.
My God it felt good.
So, so, so, so, so good and not to mention loooooonnnnnnnngggggggggggggggggg overdue.
Goodbye T-Rex.
Live well if not with the woman you love.
At a party a few days later, I told a very dear friend all about it.
He, one or two G&T’s ahead of me, so gently, with a wise raised eyebrow, reminded me that there is life after dinosaurs or we’d all not be here.
(Thank you again Darling, thank you.)
That simple idea inspired me. Utterly….not to mention the naughty 24 year old RAF pilot that was in hot pursuit of yours truly at said party!
I was so happy I had told the T-Rex to get lost once and for all, I spent a week just feeling like new woman.
Got back to the gym 3 times a week.
Downloaded a whole bunch of music for my ipod.
Started writing up a storm again.
Decided to pack up the stilettos and Touche Eclat for a while.
Broke down and bought some mascara at Boots instead of holding out for buying it in Paris.
By the time I was getting ready for Atlanta and buying some pink tights for a Valentine’s Day party I was not thinking about the T-Rex or any men at all really.
Heaven.
I had made up my mind to just take myself off the dating market for a while.
Enjoy my beautiful sons.
Enjoy my girlfriends.
Enjoy the feeling that I was at last getting over the loss of my marriage.
Enjoy being over the T-Rex.
Then, dammit all to hell, I met someone. Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.
Well, I’m gonna cut a long story short here.
Our first date was drinks at Claridge’s on a Thursday.
Two days later we spent Valentine’s Day together.
A couple of days later, the night before I flew to Atlanta we had dinner. He called at midnight to make sure I got home safely and hadn’t forgotten to pack anything. Then he asked if he could pick me up at Gatwick when I flew in from Atlanta (at 7:25am on a Saturday thank you very much).
And he did.
Somebody please back up grandma and slap her or pinch me or both, he was even more handsome in faded Levis than a suit.
Quite how that is possible I don’t know because he is gobsmackingly gorgeous, not to mention 3% body fat and has the most beautiful body that I cannot stop touching.
And I’m sitting here, late on a Sunday night back in London and jet lagged on the other side, writing this and thanking God for The Toyboy.
Why?
Because if I hadn’t met him last year and if he hadn’t come back into my life a few months ago (do re-read last column if you need to)…I would still be daydreaming about the T-Rex tonight.
Bless us and save us and halleluiah, I’m not.
And if I hadn’t gone through last year, hadn’t spent a good chunk of it with The Toyboy, hadn’t met the T-Rex, hadn’t been on all those rubbish dates, I wouldn’t realise how wonderful this man is.
How good this will be.
This new life.
Ms. Magnolia
(And, yes, of course I realise ya’ll that he is probably a post op transvestite that likes to wear nappies and is currently plotting how to steal all my fishnet stockings, my vintage evening bags, and my laciest g-strings …. but while I am gloriously unaware of these quirky personality traits I am going to do everything in my power to fall head over heels, baying at the moon, grown up in love with him, oh yes I am.)
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