Let me impart right now, before I even tell this story, a very useful nugget of wisdom for you, Flavour readers. It’s something my Mum said to me once, actually: “If you do what you’ve always done, you’ll get what you’ve always got”. Common sense, non? One would think so, and yet for some unfathomable reason, I decided that the best course of action in my post Mr Darcy/Gorgeous Boy break-up malaise, was to pursue a man who was…….. even more gorgeous.
He was in the Army and hence we shall call him GI Joe. He had a six pack that belonged in an Armani ad, broad, realistically tanned shoulders, a square and manly jaw, rippling thighs. Everything about him screamed ‘I spend a HUGE proportion of my life exercising outdoors!’. In many ways, he was very much like an actual GI Joe doll. Accept larger, obviously.
I only know this, however, from the many picture messages he sent me (of him, partially naked. I still have those….) and from the evidence on his dating profile. I never actually got to meet him. Online, we had conversed with relative ease. Admittedly, we didn’t have a great deal in common (he loved all things physical, I like to lay on my living room carpet and listening to David Bowie with a bar of Galaxy), but opposites are said to attract so we exchanged numbers.
Furious text messaging and much furtive giggling ensued. He expressed a longing to see me in the flesh and so I attempted to make flesh-meeting plans. Every suggestion I had was met with opposition. He professed to be, at one point, in West London. I had a meeting in West London. I said ‘shall we meet for coffee after my meeting?’. He said ‘ah, would love to, but just been sent to Wales’. Weirdly, I was sent to a work conference in Wales a few weeks later but, it transpired, he was now in Cornwall.
I know of course that soldiers get moved around a lot, but this seemed a little ridiculous. I began to question whether GI Joe existed, in the guise that I knew him. After all, it could be anyone sending the text messages.
Finally, on, funnily enough, another night on the tiles with Jake (see last week’s column) and I decided to drink and dial. I am nearly 30 years of age, Flavour readers, and should know much, much better. Jake bravely attempted to wrestle my mobile from my fingers bellowing ‘No! You will regret this!’ in my uncomprehending ears. But I was resolute. I dialled GI Joe’s number. “When are we actually going to meet up, then?” I demanded, before even saying “hello”. “Well” he responded “I’d love to see you, you know I would, but I’m going overseas in a few days’ time….”
Oh, I give up.
Tune in next week to find out where my search took me next.
Words by Zowie Edwards