My first encounter with le CPF (close personal friend) was a totally unexpected event. That evening, as all the best ones are, had been totally plan-less until I was invited to a friend of a friends’ house. I walked into the cosy Bond Street flat wearing a beautiful pair of purple suede thigh high boots and when I looked into the living room I saw a quiet, gorgeously dark haired man. While previously glued to my phone trying to sort out a mess of a friend/relationship with someone, I put down my bb and introduced myself to him. As he looked me up and down I felt this desire to talk to him, but I was so struck but him that it took a number of shots before I could work up the confidence to start a proper conversation… and even then it was quite a challenge understanding his heavy Caribbean accent.
A couple of days later he texted me and we started to meet up. To begin with I had told myself that someone so shut-away was really not what I needed for anything serious, yet here I was, 3 months later feeling something else entirely. As I fell for him, the mostly optimistic person that I am had obtained a nervous disposition. So I did what every London bred girl would do… I went to the pub.
After however many pints I called an old friend, Indie Boy, and got him over to the pub. Unfortunately, my drunk self then found the need to call the dark haired CFP and tell him things that no self-respecting (sober) Red would EVER say. After a half hour screaming match about his relations with a female friend, and a certain male friend of mine, one of us hung up… and that was it.
Sitting on the train en route to a bbq just outside of London, I started to think. Was our ‘relationship’ full of games and jealousy possibly because of the boots? If I had worn a pair of pumps and a sack like dress would our 'relationship' be less fuelled by sexual attraction and more by our feelings towards each other.
Having listened to my friends’ thoughts on the dark haired CPF I decided that no matter what I’d worn that night, our ‘personal relations’ were probably doomed from the start. Getting my heart broken as I grew up my mother always told me that I was just kissing frogs, and that it was something I needed to do in order to find my prince. Yet as soon as she uttered the words, I started wondering about the uncomforting truth... if there really are 'princes' for everyone?
So when my relations with the dark haired CPF started going pear shaped, I called my mother and was consequently told that he was ‘just another frog’. Always wanting drama and excitement in a relationship, I haven’t necessarily chosen the easiest paths in love. As I sat questioning my mother on what I had done wrong, I realised that maybe I should ignore my heart. Then again… that’s what friends, wine and Häagen-Dazs are for.
So vive l’amour... for now...
