So I saw the Greek again and it was lovely. We went to a pub in Hampstead (a pretty, old part of London) and then got dinner. He paid. I don’t know if this makes me a crappy person but this kind of thing now means a lot to me – not because I want a man to pay my way but because it feels like a sign of old-fashioned respect.
Just as we did the first time we met, we chatted for hours. He is clever and well read and a very good listener too. It was easy and he made me laugh.
I won’t go into the ins and outs of all our conversation because I’m not sure he’d like that but he said some very nice things, which made me feel embarrassed at the time but which I ran over and over in my head when I got home.
He said that the day before I came up to him in the coffee shop he’d been talking to a friend about his ideal woman. Then ‘this beautiful woman’ walked up to his table and seemed to be everything he had on his list. ‘And that was just your appearance. Then we started talking and it got even better. I could not believe my luck,’ he said.
This one is short and sweet. Yesterday I went into a phone store to get a new charger. I told the three-year-old assistant hovering by the phones what I needed. He grabbed one and led me to the till where I struck up a bit of witty repartee:
Me: I don’t know what I do with them, I keep buying them and leaving them places…
Him: Silent bar a look that seemed to say ‘Madam, I could not care where you leave them, why are you talking to me?’
Me: Anyway, I’m really good customer, is there any chance of a discount?
Him: A look of panic. He wasn’t expecting this. He pauses for a second then: ‘Er, no madam, unfortunately I’m not able to do that.’
Well, it turns out that the stars collided, the Universe intervened and the self-help Gods came out to test me after I did my intro post to Rejection Therapy yesterday.
They made me start this challenge with the big one: being rejected by a man. My worst nightmare. Although the fact that I imagine men rejecting me every time I see a guy I like means that it’s not so much a nightmare as a virtual reality.
Anyway, I was in a coffee shop when I wrote yesterday’s post. After I’d finished writing I was wasting time on Facebook, when a good-looking man walked in. When I say good-looking, he’s my current version of good looking – scruffy, beardy and intellectual looking.
And it wasn’t the first time I’d seen him.
Right, I’m back and ready for my next self-help challenge: Rejection Therapy. Now I’m bending the rules on this one a bit because it’s not actually a self-help book, more of a self-help game, but I’ve wanted to do it ever since I read about it a few years ago. Actually, I take that back, I haven’t actually wanted to do it because it sounds horrible but I know that it would be a very good thing for me to do. So here I am.
Rejection therapy is the brainchild of a Canadian man called Jason Comely (http://rejectiontherapy.com). The aim of the game is simple: YOU MUST GET REJECTED ONCE A DAY BY ANOTHER HUMAN BEING. Not try to get rejected or attempt to get rejected but actually get rejected.
Being rejected can come in many forms: You could ask someone out and they say no (puke, puke, puke), you could ask for a discount in a shop and they say no (cringe, cringe, cringe) or you could ask for a pay-rise/promotion at work and have it turned down (yikes)…
Putting yourself in a situation where you expect to get rejected but don’t, doesn’t count, you have to keep going until you get rejected.
I’m sorry for my absence over the last week but we’ve had a death in the family.
In the small hours of last Friday morning, my lovely uncle Gerald died unexpectedly. He was only 59. Everybody is in a state of shock, most of all his wife Peggy, and his five children Gaeroid, John, Patricia, Thomas and Maggie Mae.
Just hours before his death he’d been at a family wedding dancing and posing for photographs with his four sisters, two brothers and many cousins. This was an unusual situation in many ways – the whole family is rarely together and Gerald never danced or posed for photos.
It’s a very strange thing, enough to make you wonder if people do have a sixth sense that the end is near.
So my month following The Secret by Rhonda Byrne is over and it’s been a weird one. I’ve written fake cheques, bought a dress that doesn’t fit me and cleared out half my wardrobe, in the hope that it brings my dream man. But I still haven’t really got my head around the whole Genie in a bottle stuff of asking for anything you want and believing that my wish is the Universe’s command.
As my friend Zoe says, ‘so can I ask for bigger boobs?’ Exactly! Would The Secret argue that the universe would increase Zoe’s bust to Pamela Anderson proportions if she just believed that it was so?
I do believe that anything is possible if you put your mind to it – but I don’t think it happens by magic.
On Sunday night I went to naked yoga. Yes, you read that correctly: NAKED YOGA; I did a downward dog with no clothes on and a sun salutation with everything out for the world to see.
I’ve said it before and no doubt I’ll say it again: life has got very weird.
My sister is now getting worried. ‘There’s a line and this is crossing it,’ she told me over lunch before class. ‘Why are you doing it? Just to say ‘yes’ to things? If you get asked to join a cult or become a Scientologist are you going to say yes?’
Er, at the moment, probably. Yes.