The one that got away

Yesterday I did the epic drive down the Gold Coast for Miss Indi’s very first birthday party. 

It was wonderful to catch up with old friends, but as always those pesky lingering feelings for old lovers always come back to haunt you.

When a relationship (if you could have called it that) ends because of changing circumstances rather than breaking up because they were a c*nt of a cheating bastard, it’s hard to know how to behave when you see them.

The first time I saw him I behaved rather badly, the second time was easier, but we ended up beign caught by an old guy in  a compromising position on the beach, pants around our ankles who asked if they could join in.

And this time. Well. It was ok. I knew he was seeing someone, but still, you always wonder.  We talked about real things like we used to (albeit, now it was about his new girlfriend), he teased my gingerness like the old days and we stood there in awe of the fact that 2 years ago we were drinking at Octoberfest and now our mates have a house and 2 babies.  Then scooped me up in an enormous lingering hug when it was time to leave.

I reckon if I had been drinking I would have attempted to flirt horribly and embarrass myself (hurrah for Sober October), but at last I behaved in a manner which I am not ashamed. As I was driving home I could actually admit to myself that I at last I am genuinely happy that “the one that got away” is happy.

And when I got home, I put on Love, Actually. Because sometimes a girl needs a Hugh Grant rom-com to remind her that it’s all going to be ok.