I forget that when he's not being overly analytical and needy, he's a pretty sound guy. Plus, he's going to prove very useful in terms of male perspective for the Guide that me and Charolastra No.1 are writing (The Guide To The Misguided: Misinterpreted, Misguided, Or Just Plain Useless..? - a social document about men and women interacting, and all the confusion therein) as, if there's any weird sexual/social situation out there, you can bet your bottom dollar Mystery has been in it. And has analysed it from every possible angle. Twice. And then again for good measure.
Anyway, was sitting at the table, chain smoking and easing into a conversation about the possible existence of the elusive 'Middle Man' (somewhere in between a fuck buddy and a boyfriend - someone you're attracted to and get along with, have good chat/banter with, and who you shag, with no strings, but with whom it's not entirely meaningless. Anyone who successfully fits this bill, please apply here..) when I realise that Mystery is the only man I'm still in contact with who has seen me naked. And it freaks me the fuck out! It's entirely irrelevant, and I'm not even fussed about it - my past with Mystery feels like some school play I was in years ago, so any residual memories are vaguely blurry with nostalgia and nausea. But for a split second, I wondered what it would be like if all the men I'd ever slept with were in one room, looking at me. Then I thought, I would basically be naked. I may as well stand there, naked.
Then I laughed, which was a bit weird as Mystery was mid-sentence talking about some girl or something. And when I laughed, I spat a mouthful of wine onto the table then fell off my chair. Seriously. Mate, I think I'm actually getting more ridiculous by the day. In fact I'm getting so ridiculous, I just called my secret online blog 'mate'.
Anyway, after having spat wine all over myself and fallen off my chair, we chatted about old times and relationship issues and Neil Gaiman (Mystery's managed to blag us both extras parts in a short film Neil Gaiman is filming next week - us both being the most massive nerdlingers when it comes to comic books/graphic novels, and much of our relationship being based on geeking out about The Sandman) - and I'm offhandedly talking about the difference between being attracted to somebody immediately and finding somebody interesting, thus becoming attracted to them. And Mystery throws this one on the table..
"You know, I don't remember if I was attracted to you immediately. I mean, you're gorgeous.. but you got more beautiful to me the more I got to know you."
Blew me away, that one did. Maybe it's because nobody ever calls me beautiful, particularly in such a casual matter-of-fact sort of way (ie. not calling me beautiful to get my pants off), but even so. That may be the nicest thing anyone's said to me this year.
Anyway, it made me feel a bit stupid about having so many guys in my head, as the only one who isn't in my head at all, is in my life, as a real person who just told me he finds me beautiful, because he knows me. So I decided to stop sitting there only half-listening to Mystery, while answering calls from Darcy, thinking about Rocket Boy, and trying not to think about Ash, and instead give Mystery my full attention. So I did, and we chatted about sci-fi and comic books, and love and sex, and music. It's been a while since I've given Mystery my full attention, and it was nice. I'm not sure why I'm so stingy with my time and energy with him, yet hand out all my attention and time to boys who never bother to get to know me, thus never manage to find me beautiful.
Okay, so maybe the offhand comment has gone to my head a little! But I honestly did feel a bit ashamed, and a bit mean for always being so hard on Mystery. So 1st Note-To-Self of September : whatever little time/energy/self you have to give, make sure you're putting it in the right places, to the right people.
Now, so this doesn't get too self-help Bridget Jonesy, here's a picture of a frog wearing a snail as a hat..
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