Because a little self-love is mandatory.August 03, 2012
It was a risk, I'll admit. A reckless move. We hadn't known each other long but I thought, "Oh to hell with it. This could be something special." I'd seen that spark the first time we met and our conversation bounced off each other like a kangaroo on acid. We had something. And I had to follow it up.
"Mum, I'm going to London today."
"Okay. Who with?"
"On your own? Why? Where are you going to go?"
"Wherever the wind takes me."
"UGH, MUM. YOU JUST DON'T UNDERSTAND. WE LOVE EACH OTHER, OKAY. SHE MAKES ME HAPPY AND-"
"GOD. WHY ARE YOU BEING LIKE THIS."
"YOU CAN'T STOP US."
"I'M GOING NOW."
I was going on a date with myself to London. I was going to take a book, little money, my best shirt, lipgloss and polos (just in case i got lucky), and 4 packets of Quavers to eat on Southbank a la Lady And The Tramp. It was going to be a beautiful day. I was nervous, of course. What if I didn't like me? What if there was some awkward arm touching and stolen glances that were just plain embarrassing? I had to stop myself on the train. Stop with the 'what if's and stop devouring the Quavers. I'd eaten a packet already. Good thing I had the polos, eh. I just had to be calm, collected, and remember to just be myself. If I'm myself, then me would see me as I am. Me.
Me surprised I with a cultural twist at our first stop. We started at the Tate Modern and ended up in the middle of Tino Sehgal's piece. It was magical. We didn't have to speak, but I could tell that me was thinking what I was thinking. We connected. Of that there is no doubt. It was like the art was speaking to us. Bringing us closer together and suggesting that what we had was something indeed. Children, taking part in the art, were whisked away by parents with shouts of, "No! I want to hear more stories!", and I worried I'd have the same outcry. But no. This was a me date. I could do whatever the fuck I liked. We stayed for 2 hours, engulfed in the atmosphere of LOVE and PASSIONandstuff, until me led I out for part 2. I was all a flutter. Me was good. Me was very good.
Me date so far: 10/10.
But things took a drastic turn for the worse in Leicester Square. It had started to rain, and thankfully I had an umbrella. But there was only room for one under it, which made things quite awkward. I was dry, but me got wet. And we definitely weren't ready for that part of a relationship yet. To make matters worse, M&M World was a load of rubbish because they didn't give anything away for free and I had to buy my own lunch in McDonald's.
We had 4 hours of this date left. What could me do to redeem myself of this date with I?
Disney store. That's what could salvage the frays of this date and brush up the fragments of my disappointed heart back into place.
ALL THE BRAVE THINGS.
We made our way to the bottom level of the store, and were greeted with such euphoria that Snow White's mirror next to us reflected my smile and I saw me staring right back at I. We were one. Me looked into my eyes and saw love, I know it. The Brave section was accompanied by a hallelujah chorus and Jesus light. Such beauty. And behind us? A cinema-like screen showing Brave trailers. The small children parted, like Moses and the river, and we sat amongst the throng, not caring that we were at least 6 times larger than them. They looked up at us, with Pixar lamps dancing in their eyes, and wished to be I and me when they were grown.
I wanted to buy Merida's archery set, and fashion it into Cupid's bow to strike into my heart. But after much thought, the perceived suicide would be too much of a kerfuffle. So instead I bought a Brave pencil case and 4 Brave chocolates. One for I, one for me, one for us, and one for the man who would marry us, because this date was storming and the sexual tension was becoming unbearable. I just wanted to kiss me, tbh. Too soon? Would I scare me off? Did me want it? I didn't know. Me was a mystery. But hot damn me needed solving.
It was getting late, and night had fallen. The sweet sound of the pollution filled waves of the Thames lapped against the poor excuse of a pebbled beach and I was ready to give my cardigan to me if me got cold. Dinner in Strada and walks along Southbank made the perfect end to a perfect day, and there was only one possible thing left. The Kiss. Was it time? Do I go in for the kill? Bite the bullet? Take the bull by the horns? We were nearing the station. This was my only chance. It's now or never. So I went for a it. I took me in my arms and gave me a right smacker. IT WAS A RESOUNDING SUCCESS. We went home together, as it just so happened we were getting the same trains, and I did a big sigh as I lay in bed and began to debate whether to call me first or wait for me to call I. Such is the life of a lover. We're definitely made for each other, I and me. We make a great pair and I'd love to see me again soon.
Alas, it was not meant to be. The morning after the night before brought illness comparable to The Plague, contracted through the kiss. Oh, me. You fucked it up. So I text me, quite simply, to end further encounters: "It's not me, it's me."
Shame, we got on so well.