I Think I Need A Man

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

You know sometimes the germ of an idea manifests itself in your brain and the more you think about it, the more it takes shape and the more you think it’s going to work.

It. Is. The. Answer. Isn’t it?

It can’t fail, can it?

It’s brilliant, isn’t it?

Well.

There may possibly be a solution to The Widower problem, but I’m unsure as to whether I should set it in motion. It could backfire.

He phoned again yesterday morning asking if I was free. I expressed my ‘sorrow’ that unfortunately I wasn’t. I had to go and dig a big pile of worms up from the garden.

He then asked about today. Again, I spoke of my ‘regret’. I had an appointment at the zoo to do a spot of snake charming (but trust me, I ain’t never gonna be charming The Widower’s snake).

It transpired that New Lady is out of town until Friday, his mum is in hospital and he wanted my shoulder to cry on (shoulder eh? That’s a new one).

I visited my friend, Pink Crystal, today and we spoke about the pain in the arse this problem. As a throwaway remark, I said I need a man. A fake boyfriend.

Now I’m thinking maybe that’s not such a bad idea.

I need a fake boyfriend, but a man who really exists, one who’s willing to pretend to be involved with me. He has to be a real person so The Widower can meet him. Just the once.

I was talking it over with my mum; she also thinks it’s an excellent idea, although she said it would have to be someone I trust, and someone who I wouldn’t get into difficulties with. So I wouldn’t find myself jumping out of the frying pan into the fire, as it were. Between us, our thinking caps were on, trying to come up with a suitable man, when:

Mum: What about Dad?

Me: Ewww, that’s just icky. Ewwwwww. Ewwwwwwww.

Jokingly, I suggested I should tell The Widower I have a girlfriend.

Mum: NO! He might want to watch!”

Bugger.

Hadn’t thought of that.

I have it.

I need a gay fake boyfriend.

Yes, I know this all sounds ridiculous, but I’m getting really hacked off with it now.

If The Widower thinks there is a man on the scene, that I have a companion and I’m getting oodles of… hugs (you can remove your head from the bucket and stop gagging now, Eldest Daughter), he may back off.

Or.

And this is where it could backfire.

He may not.

He may just see that as being open season – he may think, as far as it goes, I’m up for it (the only thing I could be up for, is pushing him off Southend Pier. Hurrah! Southend Pier has a use after all).

Hmm.

What to do?

I’m having lunch with Wise One tomorrow, so I’ll run it by her and see what she thinks. She may even know of a willing victim have a suggestion for the ‘new man in my life’.

If I don’t do something, I will be pushed into turning into something I rarely do anymore:

I don’t like doing that, it unsettles me.

And it gives me indigestion.