Wednesday, 8 July 2009

How Can You Mend a Broken Heart

Just when you think you have nothing else to say about that old devil called love; it visits one of your favourite people and promptly throws them the one curve ball, that makes us act crazy and do some really stupid things.

My funny, fabulous pink warrior A, who regularly dispenses advice to me on everything from men to my wardrobe, with all the subtitly of a dead parrot is a mess. He is in love. He is in love with one of his best friends and was driven to distraction during a recent mini-break to Madrid, when said friend flirted and 'cavorted' with some of the many beautiful boys the city had to offer.

A distinguished himself by displaying all the traits of a neurotic woman from sulking to the 'look at me' attention seeking of drinking way too much, popping the odd recreational pill and dare I say it crying. The weekend ended unceremoniously at the train station, when A "ran like a girl" to catch the first train away from the object of his desire. he retreated to his flat to lick his wounds and dare I say it cry some more.

"I hate to think of you crying cherub. it's so not you!"I said laughing with him not at him. "That's not nice" said A pouting. " I'm serious, I'm in pain. I'm so miserable" . I almost gave him a real hug, but that would go against our fashionista rules of bodily contact being air to air only.

What makes the whole thing so touching is that after years as the ultimate bedroom pleasure seeker, A has fallen for the brain as well as the body of his friend. I remembered what he had said to me "men go for body first, then personality" and smiled at the irony of his falling foul of his own mantra.

I know that A is in a full on emotional, downward spiral because he has also temporarily retired from being one of the cooliest dressed men I know and started dressing like a slovenly, mature straight man. His brown polyster mixed trousers last week drew condemnation from me "What the fuck are you wearing?", his being snubbed by K - who viewed the offending clothing, raised one shocked eyebrow, then spun his chair around to carry on tapping on his keyboard. M declared they were "Something my grandad used to wear".

As we stood in line waiting for our morning caffeine fix, I couldn't help ribbing A some more about his fashion faux pas, his response was hilarious "I'm expressing my pain through the medium of clothing". We both burst out laughing and when I finally stop snorting I couldn't resist adding
"That's all well and good cherub, by you're causing me pain by me having to look at them". He gave me the look and we collapsed in laughter again.

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