Circus Boy Part One

I am going to eventually blog about what happened when Steve got back, but to get some of why those things happened, I need to write about Circus Boy - so named because you know circus ringmasters and their twirly moustaches and little beards? That's him, that is.

Now this is going right back to July, and a friend's hen night. I was really looking forward to this because all my friends were going and it was the first time that Sue was going to be going out for ages - she always used to come out with me and Heather, but then she met a nice bloke, settled down, had a baby, got a new house etc etc and so her life had got in the way of her socialising big time. I was looking forward to it so much, in fact, that I thought a hair cut was in order. Now for most people this would involve booking an appointment and sitting back while a professional does the business. But that's not how I operate, oh no, not me. For some completely unknown reason I decided I was capable of cutting my own hair - including layers. What makes this decision even more inexplicable is that every time I cut my own fringe, I look like a refugee from Prisoner Cell Block H. Oh, and did I mention that last year I cut my own hair and ended up looking like a gonk? No? Well I did. And just before the hen night, I DID IT AGAIN! Gonk hair. Best party noght of the year, and I have gonk hair.

Well, there was only one thing for it. During the last gonk hair incident I bought some hair extensions, but never used them because they made me look like a transvestite. However, this gonking was even more extreme, and transvestite was a good look in comparison. So transvestite it was. Especially as the theme of the evening was 'sexist clothing' - a typo, obviously. My sexiest clothing is goth corset top thingy and skirt. And lots of make up. I SO looked like a man.

But nothing was going to dampen my mood, we all met up, everyone pretended my extensions looked nice, and off we went for a Chinese. At some point we all ended up wearing pink necklaces with shot glasses on,  not sure this was an enhancement to the look, but it did draw the eye away from the face, and for me this was a definite GOOD THING.

Now in the Chinese, things were getting a bit rowdy cos they were quite slow bringing the food, and we were quite fast downing the wine. Somehow me and Heather (the veggies) got a weird extra-garlicky dish which no-one wanted to eat, so I wolfed it down, reasoning aloud that, 'I'm not going to be snogging anyone tonight , so it doesn't matter what I smell like'.

We may have gone to another bar or two after this, the night is a little woolly around about this point, and then at the arse-end of the evening we ended up at the local dive bar come disco. One massive boogie session and a bottle of wine later we were standing chatting and in walks this chap with the most amazing facial hair, and I couldn't help but comment on how very fetching it was. So we started chatting. And chatting. And still more chatting.

Friends began to yawn and disappear. I was so engrossed I forgot to finish my wine bottle. It was a damn good conversation, wish I could remember more of it. I met all his friends, I recall strangely agreeing that the world was run by alien lizards (?????), and vividly recall asking Circus Boy (for this was him) if he was chatting me up because he thought I was a man in drag (THE SHAME, THE SHAME!)

Finally Sue and Heather were off, but I still wanted to stay, and Circus Boy wanted me to stay, so they said I could, but only on condition that Sue spoke to him first. She then, very embarrassingly, told him he had to take care of me, and to hammer the point home, told him the whole past history of how badly I have been treated in the past :-O . Honestly, it was like something your mother would do, and I stood there like a moody teen going, 'don't say that!...Don't tell him that!.... PLEASE! STOP!'

Eventually (after many minutes and many pulls away by me) they left. So me and Circus Boy chatted for even longer. Until the dive-disco closed, in fact. He then invited me back to his, and I said no, because following the Carnival Boy incident (might blog about that some time) about two years ago, I decided that I was a born-again virgin. No more tramping around for me, I was going to be a good girl until I met A One.

But Circus Boy wasn't about to give up. And to be fair I didn't take a lot of persuading. So off we went to his house, and we carried on drinking while he tried to get me drunk enough to shag him, even though that was going to take a hell of a long time on Baileys, which was all he had in the house.

In the interests of complete honesty, I should mention here that he is approximately half my age. And because I like a bit of tidiness (at least that is the only reason I can think of for why I did it), when he said he was 24, I said I was 48. So this mean, he thinks I am a full year older than I am. But maybe he liked the whole mathematical symmetry of it too, because he seemed pretty keen, and in the end I thought, 'oh what the hell.' Obviously the fact that he was skinny and muscly, had gorgeous eyes and the cutest smile, and this way of looking at me that made me feel just a little bit jellyish had nothing to do with my decision, it was purely his persistance that payed off.

But I didn't think it was fair for this to go ahead whilst he thought I had normal hair. So I insisted on taking out the extensions. I was prepared for anything including him running screaming from the room, but he actually seemed to think I had been making a bit of a fuss over nothing. How very unlike me ;-)

So next morning I wake up as light is dawning and start getting dressed, as per good one-nighter etiquette.

'Where are you going?' he asked.

'Home.'

'Oh. Why don't you stay, and then when it's breakfast time I can make you breakfast? We can have scrambled eggs.'

I don't eat breakfast. It makes me feel ill unless I eat it about mid-day. 'Erm, I dunno, I don't want to put you out.'

'You won't be. I want you to stay.'

So I did. And since it was AGES to breakfast time we sort of filled in the time. Which was very nice. Then finally we did get up and I said I was heading off without breakfast cos I felt a bit rubbish and hungover. So instead he showed my his juggling stuff and his fire stuff - because not only does he look like a ring-master, he is a fire-juggler. Amongst other things. As I left, he gave me a big hus and asked if I wanted his number.

'Nah, it's ok, I wouldn't ring it anyway.' Cos I thought he was doing that polite thing that men do, and cos I NEVER phone first. But he actually looked a bit upset, so I said, 'but you can take mine if you want, but don't feel like you have to call.'

So he took my number. And hugged me again. And then stood in the doorway and waved when I got to the bottom of the drive. So there I am, walking down the road feeling like the cat that got the cream, cos I just spent the night with the most MASSIVE ego-boost ever, and I looked around all smiley just to see the bedroom I'd so recently vacated - and he was only still standing there watching me walk off! So I smiled even more til I looked like that Alice in Wonderland cat.

Oh, but the smile soon faltered as I reached High Street. I had forgotten, it was FARMERS' MARKET weekend. Everyone in the world (well, Shropshire) was there. And I'm walking home, in last night's clothes, with last night's make-up on, CARRYING MY EXTENSIONS (and smelling of boy). And it was 1pmish. Oh dear.

But even that couldn't erase my smile. Did I mention he JUGGLES FIRE??

So I got home and got straight into my dressing gown and had a bit of a happy sleep, because I really hadn't slept much the night before. It didn't really cross my mind that he would call. But he did.

But that's for another blog.....