V-Day - epilogue (or new beginning?)
Discussion
The other thread was getting a bit long. This new, shorter one is here so that you can laugh at my idiocy without having to plough through 30 od pages of, well, other people laughing at my idiocy.
In summary, I messed up my first Valentine's day with the other half, who is my best friend of old (female, in case anyone's wondering). I got her nothing, she got us a weekend away at an amazing spa hotel place. Big row, her going home to her parents, all interspersed with other little non-incidents such as me dealing with it by getting hammered and leaving drunken messages on her phone, going out on V-Day evening with my housemate, who is the girl I fancied last spring etc etc. Doghouse for Harry, that was for sure.
Well, er…
It sort of gets better, and then worse.
The weekend was absolutely amazing – great fun etc, and I had a cracker. She had really made an effort – picked me up from the station driving my car, which she had had valeted, and she was dressed just amazingly. This is a girl who rarely really goes to town clothes-wise – she had had her hair done, was wearing a gorgeous dress and I found out later had been to Agent Provocateur. Basically, she made it the most fantastic weekend, right from the very start. I’m sorry chaps, but the sight of a beautiful blonde driving a sports car is just, well, quite lovely actually. You could see all the chaps in the taxi rank looking at her as she drove into the car park, roof down, looking gorgeous. You could then see the admiration turn to incredulity as they saw this vision pull up in front of a short, slightly dishevelled and hungover looking punter standing by the station steps forlornly clutching a bunch of flowers (trust me, it was truly pathetic).
It was, frankly, one of the best weekends of my life. In the attempt to make it all up to her, I pulled out the stops; hired horses and went riding, organised great dinners, was attentive, obviously turned up with the bottle of champagne that I should have etc etc. Which culminated with us both getting drunk, whispering sweet nothings, lots of affection and…
…you’re getting the picture – one of romance, luxury and general wellbeing. So of course, what does old Harry do?
Goes off the deep end and suggests that we move in together.
Tits.
That wasn’t supposed to happen.
In summary, I messed up my first Valentine's day with the other half, who is my best friend of old (female, in case anyone's wondering). I got her nothing, she got us a weekend away at an amazing spa hotel place. Big row, her going home to her parents, all interspersed with other little non-incidents such as me dealing with it by getting hammered and leaving drunken messages on her phone, going out on V-Day evening with my housemate, who is the girl I fancied last spring etc etc. Doghouse for Harry, that was for sure.
Well, er…
It sort of gets better, and then worse.
The weekend was absolutely amazing – great fun etc, and I had a cracker. She had really made an effort – picked me up from the station driving my car, which she had had valeted, and she was dressed just amazingly. This is a girl who rarely really goes to town clothes-wise – she had had her hair done, was wearing a gorgeous dress and I found out later had been to Agent Provocateur. Basically, she made it the most fantastic weekend, right from the very start. I’m sorry chaps, but the sight of a beautiful blonde driving a sports car is just, well, quite lovely actually. You could see all the chaps in the taxi rank looking at her as she drove into the car park, roof down, looking gorgeous. You could then see the admiration turn to incredulity as they saw this vision pull up in front of a short, slightly dishevelled and hungover looking punter standing by the station steps forlornly clutching a bunch of flowers (trust me, it was truly pathetic).
It was, frankly, one of the best weekends of my life. In the attempt to make it all up to her, I pulled out the stops; hired horses and went riding, organised great dinners, was attentive, obviously turned up with the bottle of champagne that I should have etc etc. Which culminated with us both getting drunk, whispering sweet nothings, lots of affection and…
…you’re getting the picture – one of romance, luxury and general wellbeing. So of course, what does old Harry do?
Goes off the deep end and suggests that we move in together.
Tits.
That wasn’t supposed to happen.
Harry Flashman said:
Shut up. I need to move. Fast.
You sir are LEGEND! I salute thee!!
So with a more regular domestic arrangement; are you planning to keep us updated a couple of nights a week, with an omnibus type update of a sunday ??
just before top gear would be cool
Edited by Derek M5 on Thursday 22 February 10:42
tonyvid said:
You have met your match Harry.
This is, spookily, what my parents said to me when we got together (and indeed what her parents said to her when we got together).
And yes, she said yes. Luckily it won't be for a while due to us both having tenants at our places and other stuff to sort out. With luck, she'll forget.
Edited by Harry Flashman on Thursday 22 February 10:50
Harry Flashman said:
And yes, she said yes. Luckily it won't be for a while due to us both having tenants at our places and other stuff to sort out. With luck, she'll forget.
Optimism on a par with the Captain of the Titanic as they left port "With luck, all the icebergs will have melted"
oh Harry....
a couple of questions:
1. Did you say it as "hey, how would you feel about living together" or "hey, want to move in tomorrow?"
2. What was her initial response, and any feedback later.
3. Did you do that because you were drunk (or lovedrunk) or because you were desperatley scrabbling to claw back something from the mess you made of Valentines day?
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