The story of the dressmaker – part 1
Since going out with someone and being quite happy doesn’t make a good story I thought it would be a good time to revisit some relationship woes. This time the Dressmaker.
I’d just started a new job far away from home and broken up with an actually nice girl for reasons that in hindsight seem a bit wonky. So I was in a town I didn’ t know with no friends nearby. It was quite a lonely time really.
I bumped into a girl at work, quite literally bumped. She was tall with glossy dark hair, high cheekbones and rosy cheeks and very big eyes. We’d collided because we both weren’t paying attention to where we were going.
There were apologises and then we went on our way. Some time passed, I’d see her around the building a few times and we’d share a smile and a hello but nothing more than that.
Then we had to work together on a project. It was fun, she was bright and interesting. The project was successful and we’d email each other occasionally afterwards. Our conversation started to get a little firty, because one day she suddenly she mentioned she had a boyfriend and so I backed off.
More time passed. Yes, I’m a fast mover.
I found out via some people at work that she’d been asking about me. There was a big company culture for office dating. I’d say about 90% of the people there were dating someone they’d met through work. So I had my suspicions about what the questions were about.
She mentioned in an email she was having a tough day and I said wine helps (it does), which ended up becoming a drink after work to bitch about the office. Because that’s what friends do, right?
Just a quick glass of wine
We met up and drank a lot of wine. A lot. We were in a hotel bar because that was the closest thing to a bar nearby. The rest of the places to drink would be charitably called ‘fight pubs’.
We both got very drunk while talking about people at work. Then had a very expensive and very bad meal and then some more booze.
The conversation got a bit hazy. We wanted more booze but the bar was closed. We tried to get more, The Dressmaker was a local celebrity, but she couldn’t get us just one more gin and tonic for the road. ‘Don’t you know who I am’ FAIL.
It was at around this point we kissed. I’m not 100% on how this happened. It got a bit tongue-y. Eventually we left the bar and stumbled out into the cool night air. Actually it wasn’t cool, it was freezing.
Almost instantly a cab appeared. I said she should get in it and go home. She said she didn’t want to.
I insisted because she had boyfriend. I said that I liked her, and because I liked her she should go home. This turned into a monologue about doing the right thing if you really like someone, it was as much for my benefit as for hers.
It was appreciated but had almost exactly the opposite affect to the one I was expecting. She walked, through a war zone (I lived in a really rough area) to visit my flat.
We drank Champagne and talked nonsense and then, at about 4am it was time for bed. I explained that nothing naughty was going to happen because of her situation. She borrowed some clothes off me and I left the room so she could change.
She got a bit angry because I refused to look at her breasts. Like really angry.
She kept trying to break my resolve to do something that would require more than a PG certificate. I refused, again and again. Hoping that in years to come I wouldn’t come to regret this. It might have been the right thing to do, but it wasn’t the most fun.
The next morning, after a light breakfast, we made our way into to town. We had a coffee, and as is the way of these things, were spotted by someone from work.
DUN DUN DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
(To be continued)