…is a bit of a charmer

…has a wicked sense of humour

…understands my sarcasm

…is good looking in an understated way

…is tall

…has a girlfriend

Bugger it.

If you saw me on over the weekend, I’d rather appreciate it if you could answer a couple of questions for me:

• How many clubs did I end up going to in the end on Friday night? I have recollection of 4.
• Who did I go to the last one with? I know Rabbie was with me at around midnight. I then went to another club with the mysterious blond (see bullet point below) and to another one with the Brazilian. I just can’t recall who I finally persuaded to go to the final one with me. Hm. Maybe it was Shots Barman.
• And on that note, what was I saying to Shots Barman which resulted in a friend request from him yesterday morning? Obviously I was witty and charming (or it’s got to that stage in our relationship that he thought it was about time)
• Who was the mysterious blond that I ended up kissing? More importantly, what was wrong with him that I promptly did a runner? Or did I just get bored?
• How did I manage to lose my wallet? Where did the lovely bouncer find it? How many people did I encourage to join in the search? Did I really try and speak French sign language again?
• When did I grow up and become sensible? (sticking to my mantra of “nothing good happens after 2am” I got myself home at a reasonable hour)
• How did I manage to get up on Saturday morning to go for a walk?
• Why don’t I go out for walks on a Saturday more often?
• Why have I never watched Friday Night Lights before? 
• Since when did it become ok for me to flirt with a old(er) divorcee and two young ‘uns? Since when do I do this in the full knowledge that a) nothing will come of them b) that this doesn’t bother me because c) despite their individual charms, each one of them is A Bad Idea?

Answers on a postcard please.

“What am I doing here? What am I doing here? What am I doing here?”

Despite the words of encouragement and love I’d received from various friends and family all morning, the angry birds in my stomach seemed to have launched a full-on attack.

The weekend had started in a semi-relaxed manner.  A leisurely flight to Heathrow, Fursty Ferret in his impossibly dirty car waiting for me. A drive into the Cotswolds punctuated by laughter, random snippets of song and Radio 4. The small village pub with its relaxed opening hours and friendly, if slightly bemused, locals (“You’re going where love? Your ex’s wedding? And you’ve come over from Switzerland?”). A late lock-in was followed by the sleep of the dead in an all-encompassing duvet and smothering pillows.

The day itself dawned. We went for a short constitutional before finding a nearby pub for Bloody Marys and a harrowing game of rugby.

Soon though, I couldn’t put it off any longer. The day I never thought I’d see, or at least, the day I thought I’d be slightly more involved with, had to begin.

And so there I was, sitting at the local pub, memories assaulting me from every angle. There was the corner where the best man and I danced round like loons after one too many gin and tonics. There was the bench we spent all summer on. The little church that we went to midnight mass at fortified by nips of sloe gin. The little lane that led onto rolling fields and stunning views over the Cotswold countryside. As much as I wanted to forget it, this little village and I had history.

And there was the biggest chunk of history ambling towards me now.

Wearing shorts (they lucked out with the weather! 27 degrees? A summer bride could only dream of that) and an old rugby shirt, he strolled up to the pub.

“Hullo” he said. And that was that. All nerves vanished and suddenly I realised that the man in front of me was nothing more than that – a man. A slightly older, slightly fatter, slightly more tired version of the man I used to go out with.

He walked up the stairs and pulled me into a hug. “Lovely to see you Miss Moo” he said. “You too”, I grinned. And it was.

Having not seen N for over 2 years, I wasn’t sure what I was going to think when I saw him again – let alone how those thoughts might be amplified due to the situation. The conversation flowed easily, there was no hesitancy, there was no fear. It was just two friends on a wedding day. Fursty Ferret was tasked with helping with ties and button holes. I was tasked with buying N’s brother beer and amusing the guests (both of which I performed admirably, I hasten to add).

The wedding ceremony itself passed without a hitch (except for that part when the vicar asks if anyone knows “any just cause” etc. The rows around me all turned and looked at me just in case I was going to do a Hugh Grant esque type declaration of love). The libation undertaken before we made it to the church ensured that the motley crew on the back pew belted out the hymns with abandon (for those of you keeping score, they were all cracking rugby based hymns – Bread of Heaven, I vow to thee and Jerusalem).

Outside of the church we did the usual “lovely service Vicar” and “you must be so proud”s and then suddenly there I was, in front of the new me. “You must be NuttyCow”, she said. “Thank you so much for coming along”.  “You look lovely” I said, meaning it.

And that was that.

It occurred to me then that, despite all the warnings of doom and shunning and escape plans (believe me, there was an escape plan), this whole day was going to be fine. It was going to be a blurry whirl of too much champagne, inappropriate dancing and the kissing of people that one really shouldn’t.

But you don’t want to hear about that part… do you?

Lost your keys? Stop looking for them and, all of sudden, there they’ll be, right where you always leave them. (or, in my case, a couple of weeks ago, in the fridge)

Need a perfect pair of shoes to go with that perfect dress for that perfect occassion? Don’t go out shopping for them, you’ll never find them. Instead, when rushing back to the office one day after a long lunch break, 5 minutes late for that mega important meeting, there they’ll be, sitting in the window to that shop you always pass, calling you.

Want a boyfriend? Reject the idea of having a man completely and slowly settle into a single life of fun and frolics et voila! There he will appear, the man of your dreams.

If you read any of the myriad of self-help books there are on the market – pumped out by American “gurus” who seemingly think that flogging one idea to death and writing 1,000 pages based on one premise is the epitome of literature – you will see that acting unobtainable is the sure-fire way to get the man you want. 

The doyenne of the “get the man you want (who isn’t neccesarily the man you deserve but dammit, good looks trump personality, stability, trustworthiness etc, don’t they? And you do want to get married, don’t you? You don’t want to be a failure FOREVER, do you?)” books is The Rules.

Based on a 1950s style of courtship, it’s full of gems such as

Take care of yourself, take a bubble bath and build up your soul with positive slogans like “I am a beautiful woman. I am enough.”

and

The Rules helped me re-establish myself as a priority in my own life, and consequently, I found a man who makes me a priority in his!

Their website goes on to claim that Kate Middleton managed to nab William by following The Rules (and, as much as I’m a bit “meh” over Kate/Catherine, I can hardly believe that a sensible woman like her would stoop so low). A couple of the Rules quoted (explanation my own except where in quotations):

• Don’t talk to a man first – you should let him approach you. Otherwise, how do you know if he finds you alluring or is just being polite?
• Don’t stare at men – let men look at you. (this one, I don’t get. What am I supposed to do in return? Stare at the floor? Not make eye contact? What?)
• Don’t tell him what to do – “If you don’t like a guy’s behaviour, just act like you don’t need him. Get busy and he’ll come after you”  Be distant and aloof.
• Don’t meet him halfway – in fact, don’t give an inch, make him do all the running, all the compromising etc Make yourself a challenge to be around.

Apparently, according to the authors, if you follow their 33 rules to the letter, you can “expect a proposal in 2 years”.

Your problem is not if he marries you, but when! If it’s been more than a year, see less of him and think about dating others. You’ve already spent more than a year waiting for him to propose; do you have another year to wait?

What self-repecting woman wouldn’t want that? <sarcasmfont>* And, if you’re not convinced you can do it on your own, why don’t get a consultation? All yours for $300! In the meantime, of course, you’ll have lost all your friends, your self respect and will have been a complete bitch to the man you’re looking to hook. A great start to any marriage, no doubt.

However, for all its sexism and archaic methodology, and as much as I hate to admit it, there is a glimmer of truth to The Rules.

There is something intrinsically seductive about something you know you can’t, or shouldn’t, have.**

A friend of mine recently announced that he would start looking for a girlfriend in 2012 – you know, to give himself a year of singledom since the last girlfriend before settling down again. (I admit, I rolled my eyes at this. If only it were so easy. If only you could just decide when you were going to find someone to be with. Plus, the fact that there’s an apparent time limit on how long it takes to get over someone?) Anyway, not the point…

The point is, what really annoyed me about his statement was the fact that it made him seem all the more attractive. The fact that I knew he wasn’t looking for anything means my interest was piqued and I was ready to play. And, worse than that, I don’t even really fancy the man – he’d be an awful boyfriend and has far too much baggage to play with. But that, sadly, is incidental.

So where does that leave women like me?

I’m in a weird damned if I do, damned if I don’t situation.

If I admit that, actually, I’d quite like to have someone in my life, then that automatically repels all men within 5 miles (if my physique and personality haven’t already done their job, of course) and so I’m alone.

If I then decide that, sod it, I don’t need a man, I am woman, hear me roar etc then, at the back of mind, I’m aware that for some reason, this makes me more attractive. And so I’m back to hoping it will work and that I’ll have someone in my life. It’s a never ending cycle.

So basically, I’m screwed.

Just not, sadly, literally.

What about you ladies? Do you follow The Rules? And you chaps, what do you think on the acting like a bitch to get the man school of thought?

(heehee, see what I did there?)

In a week where I found out that four of my friends are newly engaged, thoughts in Nuttycow Towers has, understandably, moved back to the well-worn path of weddings, marriage, relationships and impeding mad cat-woman status.

My past form on this subject should be well known by now but, just for the benefit of you newcomers, to save you rooting through endless drivel, here are the Nuttycow thoughts on love and marriage:

• I love the idea of marriage. Always have, always will.
• I want to get married one day.
• Having a career has never been top of my list of “things to do” (militant feminists please direct all hate mail to nuttycow [@] gmail.com)
• Settling down with a man I love and being happy is pretty much it for me. Oh, and a house in the country and a black lab. And gin.

< a little sidetrack >

I think this love and belief in marriage is my parent’s fault. Well it is! However many years after first meeting, they’re still together. Happily, from what I can see.

Plus, they got engaged 3 days after first meeting each other. There’s hope for us all!

A story for another day perhaps.

< end of sidetrack >

Such is my passion for this lifestyle that it has started to change the way in which I think about new relationships.

I was with N for over four years. After about two, I started wishing and hoping that the question would be popped and I’d be able to start on the next stage of our life together. As we all know, it never happened (although it was talked about – searching through the archives it seems I didn’t ever really tell you about that one – just as well really.)

And so there I was, nearly 5 years later, alone, older and no closer to getting what I actually wanted. (As we also know, and I’ve since discussed at length, the break up with N was one of the best things I ever did. It got me back my friends – and personality – for a start.)

So how did this change me? Well, for one, it’s made me a hell of a lot pickier (I know, it doesn’t seem like it, does it?) I think if I ever got to the ‘starting to get serious’ part of a relationship, I’d have to have a proper think about whether I saw it going anywhere. If, when I got my crystal ball out and looked into the future, I couldn’t imagine myself married/settled down/living with said chap, I’d have to end it.

Why? Because there’s no point in dragging out a something that’s not going to go anywhere.

Similarly, if the chap in question had completely differing views to me on what he wanted out of life, I’d have to think twice about whether it was worth carrying on with the whole thing. I mean, even though I may be fall-over in love with the guy, there’s little point in prolonging something where the future is different for the two key characters.

I was talking about it in passing with the girls over email. I put the following poser to them:

What would you do if you were in a relationship and, several years down the line, it came to light that future plans weren’t in sync. One of you wanted the whole hog – wedding babies, house in the country – and one of you didn’t.

It became abundantly clear that thinking about the future is something us woman do a lot. And we have very clear opinions on it too.

Friend one: I stayed with my ex for 8 miserable years. We split, he married the next girl he met in super speedy time. I was left feeling I had wasted a lot of time and was very miserable about it. So my personal perspective is that if marriage is what you want and the other person doesn’t, you have to accept that they aren’t the one.

Friend two: I would be frustrated that he hadn’t brought it up earlier in proceedings. It seems deeply unfair to (effectively) keep secret an opinion that could have a huge effect on your relationship.If one of the two wants to get married one day and the other doesn’t and won’t then it is never going to be properly resolved – and sadly the longer they wait the harder it will be to leave.

Friend three:I think people have an aversion to marriage when they know deep down they aren’t with the right person. Marriage really shouldn’t be that scary. It isn’t about being “locked down”. If you really, genuinely love someone, then marriage is one way of showing that love publicly to everyone, including the person you marry. And if for some reason you don’t want to do that, then sadly, it’s probably because you aren’t genuinely in love with the person.

Friend four:The conversation about marriage should come before the moving in. There’s nothing wrong with saying to someone “what’s your vision?” I don’t mean “what’s your vision with ME”, I just mean it as an opportunity to scope out if someone is like minded or not – so do they like the idea of having kids, marriage, etc. There’s a big difference between having a possibility vs. a dead end.

Friend five:Sometimes love just isn’t enough. EEK! But it’s true. You can be a different as chalk and cheese on what movies you like, what clothes you wear, what jobs you do, but you’ve got to be on the same page for the big stuff. If the fundamentals are there then the rest can be worked out.

It’s clear from these comments that it’s not just me (hoorah!) It seems a lot of women have clear thoughts about the shelf life of a relationship if the fundamental views on the big stuff is different. We all seem to want the possibility of a future in our relationships. Not such a big ask, you’d think.

I shared the conversation with a male friend of mine. He said:

I am now officially terrified of your species. You think so much about this stuff and can’t just roll along. Why can’t women just carry on in a relationship and see how things go?

Do we over think things? Would it just be easier if we went with the flow, let the relationship do what it was going to, see how things progressed? Maybe, but we can’t.

And that scares men. Petrifies them.

Tell any man that you want to get married and see them suddenly have an urgent appointment with a maddened bull/become gay/admit they’re actually on day release and have to run back to prison before their parole officer finds out.

What they don’t seem to understand is that we don’t necessarily want to get married RIGHT NOW or even, imagine this, to THEM. We do, however, want the option to be open to us. We don’t want to go into a serious relationship thinking we’re wasting our time. We want to believe that somewhere, there’s a future with the man in question. Because hell, we like him enough to sleep with him, we’d like to think he likes us enough to consider something serious with us.

But why? Why do we need this comfort, this possibility? Should we stop all this thinking and be a little bit more like men, so grateful that someone wants to have regular sex with us (and potentially cook for us/clean our dirty rugby kit/buy beer) that we just want to take advantage of that while it lasts?

Or, conversely, should men start thinking more and stop being so scared? Should they realise that although living for the moment and being spontaneous is all very well, some day, unless they get their act together, they’re going to end up being that slightly sleazy old bachelor who insists you call them Uncle all the while squeezing your arse.

I think it’s a little bit of both. Yes, us women have got to chill the fuck out a bit. Just because you’re 10 years on from longer 25 and still unmarried, it doesn’t matter. Enjoy what you’ve got for what it is. It’ll happen someday. (although, to be fair, the advice from above does still count – if you and he are in completely different places on something fundamental like marriage and babies then I’m thinking that it probably isn’t going to work. If, however, there’s a bit of wiggle room, just be patient).

And men, you’ve got to realise that us women think about these things. A lot. And it matters to us. You might not give two stuffs about whether you get married or not but have enough forethought to realise we might. Similarly, you might be Mr Groomzilla and she may be a bit “meh” about the whole thing – you have to take that into account too and don’t push it. She may change her mind.

The moral of the story – it’s got to be about compromise. Relationships can’t be black and white the whole time (rarely, in fact). Most of the time, it’s a lovely shade of grey – some of you, some of them which, together, makes the two of you.

CAVEAT: I know that there are plenty of men out there who aren’t scared of commitment, who do think things through and who do plan for the future. You, I love. Well done. The others, come along now.

Well, on arriving home this evening, what do I find in the postbox but an invite.

To a wedding.

Between N and his fiancee.

I’ve read and re-read it a couple of times now and I’m still no closer to figuring out what to do about it. In conversations with Fursty Ferret on the matter, I’d come to the conclusion that, were I invited to the whole thing (ie the wedding and the wedding breakfast) then I’d book my flight and off I’d go. If I was just invited to the evening thing, I’d RSVP a polite no.

However, on reading it, I can’t quite figure out what the invite means.

Dr XYZ
requests the pleasure of
the company of
[nuttycow]
at the marriage of his daughter
[fiancee]
to
[N]
at the
[church]
on [date]
followed by a reception
at [venue]

at 2.30pm

Now, in my mind, 2.30 is quite late to be holding a wedding. But then at the same time, it’s too early to just be an invite to the evening event.

Oh the confusion.

Nonetheless, it looks like I’ve got 3 months to get my act together and start looking fabulous.

I start tomorrow (or maybe the day after. I am, as ever, the queen of procrastination).

What do you think? Would you go if you were me?

I’ve always been one of those girls who’s more likely to be friends with men than women. It’s not that I don’t have female friends (see the cast, there’s a healthy mix there) but generally speaking, if I want to go and drink away my sorrows, I go out with the boys. If I need someone to explain the vagaries of men, it’s my male friends I turn to. If I need someone’s shoulder to cry on, it’s more likely to be a masculine shoulder (to all my female friends whose shoulders I’ve cried on, I’m not casting any aspersions as to your physique here).

Female friends are wonderful for many things. They’re great for bitching about men, they’re great for telling you when your bum really does look big, they’re great for knowing the right thing to say at exactly the right time. They’re great for long random chats on Skype, cheering you up by fashioning moustaches out of coat hangers (thanks, Bad Influence). They’re great for big belly laughs that make you snort, tears running down your cheeks. In summary, girlfriends are great.

But there’s something about male friends which I can’t quite put my finger on. I find their company easy. I find their company comforting. I don’t need to look my best around them – my male friends are gratifyingly blind when it comes to our friendship – in fact, I don’t think they’d know the difference between me slobbing on a Sunday and me dressed up to the nines (or, at least, if they do notice the difference, they certainly don’t say anything – a blessing and a curse)

So when it comes to establishing a strategy for man-hunting (and yes, believe me, I do come up with strategies – I’m very military in that respect) invariably it’s Fursty Ferret, Model of a Modern Major General and, more recently, Sir Charmsalot, that I turn to.

They compliment each other through their stark differences.

They all have different relationship status’: FF has moved in with a lovely girl and is happier than I’ve seen him for a while. MoaMMG has been married for a number of years now and SCaL is on the perpetual prowl for someone who deserves him.

They all have different approaches to love, life and everything: MoaMMG is pragmatic, SCaL is optimistic, FF is go-get-‘em.

Three completely different people with only one real thing in common – me.

Over the last few weeks, the three musketeers have been each giving their own bits of advice on my current conundrum: as someone who finds it horribly easy to “fall in friend” with men, it seems I have a real problem it’s done to me against my will.

Popeye* (named for his beautiful forearms amongst other things) is the latest chap to appear on my radar. Poor chap, he never even saw it coming.

On the face of it, he seems to be the antithesis of everything I have ever purported to like in a man – younger, not 6’2’’, non-rugby playing – and yet, there’s something about him that intrigues me (it might have something to do that he uses words that I have to look up in the dictionary. Me! An English graduate!).

Mulling it over last night it finally hit me. I like him because he’s desperately trying to “fall in friend” with me.

(As well he might. As a chap who could be the poster boy for an “it’s complicated” Facebook status, I really can’t blame him.**)

However, his own personal complications aside, I’m quite affronted that, for once, I haven’t got my own way. I don’t want to be his friend. At least, not yet.

Popeye is not the love of my life – I don’t think there’s any question about that. However, it would be kind of nice to have a smidge of interest from him without being so unceremoniously dumped into the platonic category. I mean, he’s flirtatious enough when we meet, when we talk, why not act on it and then we can get on with being mates.

The Harry theory (named after Harry in When Harry Met Sally, of course. Pay attention in the back!) suggests that a man and a woman can’t be friends due to the fact that there’s a residual sexual question between the two protagonists which gets in the way of the friendship.

I subscribe to this – but with a twist (maybe I should name this new theory the Harry-Nuttycow theory?)

Giving in to the Harry theory makes the relationship stronger. It’s through answering the questions that the friendship is built.***

In some cases you become friends with an ex (or even a “sort of” ex) as was the case with MoaMMG and I. Sometimes, it’s a drunken snog with a friend which was bound to happen at some point (hello SCaL) and sometimes it’s just a drunken snog (*waves at FF*)

The point is, however, that despite these minor deviances, we remain friends (or, in the case of FF, we became friends). The question was put and was answered (evidenced by the fact that I’m not with any of the aforementioned men). To me, it’s because of our various histories that my friendship with these men survives.

And here is where the frustration with Popeye comes in – he’s not even willing to try and answer the question.

What do I want from him? I want us to have a dalliance, for it to fail and for us to be friends. Or not. I think all I really want is for more posibilities to be open to me– not to have him give up just because it seems like the easier thing to do.

Once you’ve closed the door to the Harry-Nuttycow theory, it’s very difficult to open it again. If this forced “just friends” thing continues to happen, Popeye and I will become random acquaintances who pass each other in the pub or on nights out but aren’t close enough to have the fun we’ve been having over the last couple of weeks.

The question will never be answered and so we’ll forget to ask it. This potential friendship will die.

So what to do…? For now? Nothing.

For now, I’m going to play it by ear.

Why the passive approach, I hear you ask. I know, it’s certainly not like me, is it? Answer? I don’t know. I don’t know what I want, who I want it with and when I want it. The state of flux isn’t disturbing me as much as I thought it would, however.

Could it be that I’m finally growing up, finally letting go of childish notions of the fact that everything has to follow to a plan? Possibly in my old age I’m starting to understand that stuff will happen and, whatever it is, it’s going to make you the person you are.

And that that’s ok too.

* copyright Fursty Ferret

** As I’ve already explored in previous posts, I’m not in the market for a guy with a girlfriend, but seriously, this man isn’t in a relationship, he’s in a Hardy novel.

*** Please note, the Harry-Nuttycow theory does not apply when either party is in a relationship.

Cheating has a number of guises. Everything from cheating on exams to bending the rules at cards. However, today I’m talking about cheating, adultery, affairs*.

Right – so if we believe is wrong, why do people still do it? There seem to be a number of theories out there. It’s got to do with being strong women. It’s because we’re not being fulfilled in a relationship and we need to find something we deserve. It’s because men aren’t ‘built’ to be monogamous. It’s because of the heat of the moment and that heady whirl of lust. It’s because sometimes it just happens. Because the person was there.

In a wild departure from the norm, I did a bit of research amongst my friends on their theories.

Cheating is done usually when something is wrong in the relationship either fundamentally or due to a lack of communication. [It could be a] lack of commitment, lack of attention, lack of compromise.

We cheat because deep down we know something is wrong, and it’s the only way we know how to escape the relationship. Often it is a subconscious defense.

Why do I think people do it?

Because, for some people, cheating is easier than bring faithful.

You’re out with your friends, you meet someone, you talk, you flirt, you feel that feeling. Your relationship isn’t working (“they don’t understand me, we never sleep together”) and here they are, this other person, who pays you attention. It’s possible that drinks are flowing. The laughter curls round you. The lights seem softer. And it’s far too easy to forget that anyone else exists.

For some people, therefore, I think it’s just too simple to forget. Too simple to give in to the whisking tail of infatuation that snaps and curls at our feet. Too simple to make excuses.

 What is cheating? Is it thoughts or action? Or both? One of my friends said:

If you explore anything with the other person before ending the current relationship, even if it’s not physical, you are cheating

When I pushed her to explain she said:

Spending and enjoying time with someone, sharing “deep feelings”…the things that you only usually share with your closest friend or partner

I question this. Some of my friends are male, and, sometimes, I share things with them that, in some cases, I don’t share with anyone else. Did that constitute cheating? I don’t think so. And that, I think, is where intent comes into it.

It doesn’t have to be physical – if you’re mentally or verbally sharing something with someone other that your partner for the purpose of gratification, then that’s cheating. It could be emails, it could be text messages, it could be excessively flirty conversation in the pub. If you’re doing it with the intent of anything but friendship, if you’re getting some form of sexual buzz from your actions with someone else, you’ve got to start questioning your behaviour.

I seriously believe that if you even have to think about whether your partner would be upset by your conduct, then you’re on shaky ground.

Once a cheater, always a cheater.

I don’t know who first told me that. It might have been Ricky Lake, it might have been my mother, it might have been a friend. Or maybe it’s just one of those mantras which passes down from girl to girl – much like which pages in Forever have the naughty bits.

Whatever its providence, once a cheater, always a cheater, right?

But hang on, just because I cheated on L, my boyfriend of 2 weeks (1 of which was half-term) back when I was 16, does that mean I’m going to cheat at the grand old age of 29?

(as an aside, I dumped L just after we came back from half term and I’d snogged… whoever it was. He then promptly changed from a relatively alright rugby lad to becoming a rather scary goth. I like to think that his heart was so broken by losing me that he couldn’t imagine a world with light, love or laughter)

I think this is where it comes back to intent again. There are people out there who get off on cheating. They like the buzz. There are people who don’t intend to cheat but don’t have the strength to do any different. And then, I like to think, there are people like me. Who’d do the right thing. Who’d (in the immortal words of a twitter follower)

[…] end the relationship first. don’t be a knob. [sic]

So there’s my take on cheating when I’m the one in the relationship. It’s clear cut. There are boundaries and you don’t cross them. If you’re in a relationship, it’s with one person.

And it’s at this point that we come to the incident that started this whole thought process in the first place. We come to the quandary which isn’t so black and white in my head and one which I’ve been involved in.

There have been occasions where I have helped someone cheat.

I’ve met a guy, I’m out somewhere, in a pub, with friends, wherever. And there we are. We get on, we have fun. He has a girlfriend. And yet, for some reason, his hand lingers on my arm. He places his arm casually over the back of my chair, his fingers brushing my neck.

And what do I do?

Do I stop him? Do I let him carry on, justifying it to myself that he’s just a bit flirtatious and it doesn’t mean anything?

And what happens if he kisses me?

Who’s the responsible one? Is it up to me to stop his cheating? What if I don’t know he has a girlfriend? What if we kiss and he only tells me afterwards?

Having been cheated on before, I know the feeling when you find out. When your heart is pulled straight out of your chest and thrown around the room. The nausea. The pain. The anger. The hatred.

Is the other person complicit in the action? Is a one-off event as bad as a long-term affair? If you’re the one someone’s cheating with, are you part of the problem?

All these questions are chasing round my head at the moment.

Why?

Because it’s happened to me. Because I’ve been that other woman. Because, over the years, I’ve been in that position and I’ve kissed a guy with a girlfriend (and sometimes, to my shame, it’s been more). Someone who wasn’t free to kiss me.

Now, if the other person is part of the cheating, does that mean that cheating is inevitable? Does it mean that, even if you’d never cheat on a partner, but instead you’ve been the single one, you’re still a cheat?

I don’t know the answer. Or, at least, I have a theory in my head and I’d like to think it was wrong. I’d like to think that cheating isn’t a given. I’d like to think that because someone has cheated on their partner with me, I’m not culpable. But deep down, I know that’s not the case. Deep down, I know, that I’m just as responsible as the person who’s in the relationship.

Another friend said to me

Without confronting your temptations you can never battle them. I think being tempted is part of life just as much as being tempted to eat a cake or steal something. You have to learn how to deal with it. It’s a social interaction.

And that’s where I think I’ve failed. Along the way, temptation has waved at me and I’ve waved back. Even though I know that some of the things I’ve done are wrong, I haven’t stopped doing them. I’ve helped other people cheat. For no other reason than I didn’t want to at the time.

I was just about to write a footnote saying “as an aside, I’d like to clarify that married men are way off boundary. As soon as I know a man is married, I’ll back away”. I then realised the fallacy of that statement. What’s the difference between married men and men in a relationship? There shouldn’t be one. Why should I feel that a married man cheating is worse than one in a relationship? Why should I have such standards that if I liked a married man and he liked me, I wouldn’t go there but that if they were just in a relationship, well then that’s ok?

And so we come to me today.

Older, wiser and different from those heady days of my youth. I like to think I know better and that the mistakes of my past will never haunt me again. I’d like to think that being involved with a cheater (in whatever fleeting moment) isn’t something I’d do again. I’d like to think that.

But I’m scared. I’m scared that should the situation ever arise again, I’ll forget my moral code and my knowledge of the hurt I might cause and I’ll give in. I’ll help someone else cheat.

Just because it’s easier.

*as an aside, I was going to put the word cuckold in there too but apparently, according to the all-knowing google, the term has changed meaning somewhat from those heady days of Shakespeare:

…and there will the devil meet me, like an old cuckold, with horns on his head, and say, ‘Get you to heaven, Beatrice, get you to heaven; here’s no place for you maids:’…

When it comes to men, I’m not so good with the shy and retiring types. Being a little bit on the extrovert side myself, I don’t really understand those who aren’t comfortable in the lime light.

And so, when Tall Traveler came over to say hello, in that dusky, fashionable bar in Geneva and offered me a high five, I was more than a little confused. Were we 12? Had we not met before? Had I got it completely wrong?

I looked at him incredulously and offered him my cheek for a kiss. To his credit, he blushed and sheepishly turned back into the 32 year old man I had taken him for.

For the past two weeks, text messages had been furiously exchanged between the friend, the Tall Traveler and I. Missed opportunities and missed meetings abounded. And then, suddenly, one stinking hot Saturday, I was over at Jua Kali‘s house (felling a tree of all things) and suddenly, I was in the right place at the right time. After all the positive signs that I had had in the previous weeks, I was feeling more than a little optimistic about the meeting. I mean, didn’t he facebookstalk me within hours of meeting me? Didn’t he then talk to his friend about me? And he seemed keen to meet up, right?

With this in mind, it was decided that I, along with two other guests, should head into town and see what the nightlife of Geneva had to offer. We agreed on a location and, several hours after we initially said we might be there, the three of us turned up. A quick recce of the joint and I had spotted the Tall Traveler sitting with a large group of friends by the door. We positioned ourselves within spying distance and waited. (Luckily for us, there were more beautiful men in this one bar than I’ve seen in my entire time in Switzerland. I don’t know what attracted them but hell, I’m going back to see if it was a one-off)

Eventually the friend came over. Colonial type with his arm in a sling (tendonitis apparently) he was friendly, charming and amusing. Not a glimmer of recognition from the Tall Traveler. The friend sat down and was generally on form – he sought common ground with the three of us, and found it. Nothing from TT.

It wasn’t until an hour later that he finally came over to say hi (and the strange high-fiving incident occurred). Begrudgingly, he invited us over to join his group of friends.

The evening that followed was fun but…. odd. I didn’t know quite what to make of the whole thing. Part of me felt I was taking some kind of test. TT concentrated on making flirtatious small talk with my friend, I was left talking to everyone else. Time passed. It was 2 o’clock (why does this always happen to me? I always say I’m going out for a short time and then suddenly it’s 2 in the morning.)

Coming clubbing?

said one of the friends. Looks shot round the table.

Women have a fantastic knack for having a whole conversation in only a few looks. Through lowered eyelashes in one direction and wide eyes in the other, a very clear plan of action was put in place.

As we walked towards the car, my friend turned to me and made a comment which pretty much summed up the whole evening.

You know he was playing with my foot all evening?

Amusing. But odd.

• It’s generally warm (especially this year in Switzerland where the average temperature has been around 26 degrees – bliss)
• It’s easy to write (ok, so this isn’t actually a reason but I had to plump the list up a bit)
• Eurovision

What’s not to love about Eurovision? Seriously – fantastic costumes, brilliant lyrics, amazing dancing. As is tradition in the Nuttycow household, I decided to have friends round to help revel in the pure camp pleasure.

You may remember that the Friday before Eurovision (for that’s when it was) I had sent a message to the Tall Traveler requesting his presence at a bar near me. I got a mixture of comments on this move, mostly of the “you go girl” variety (rarely seen outside an episode of Ricky Lake) and one voice of descent from the Fursty Ferret.

You can imagine my glee, therefore, when, just after lunch on Eurovision night, a message pings into the inbox.

Hola. I was supposed to be in Geneva tonight but it’s looking like a change of plan is likely, so I might end up in Lausanne. If I do go I’ll be at a dinner and then probably at this <event> at some hotel, and if not then at the <pub>. Will you be around there?

Hmmm. Play it cool Nutty, play it cool.

Having people round for BBQ to watch Eurovision (I’m so cool!) Then who knows…? Send me a text when you know your plans

Number duly dispatched, I got on with my day.

Later that evening, when I’m several bottles down, a text message comes through:

Yo! You going to the <pub>?

An answer of the “unknown” variety was sent and I continued to laugh at Blue and Jedward.

*generic text message tone*

An unknown number?

Am in a bar with <Tall Traveler> who says you grew up in Kenya. Have you ever been <place> or <other place>?

I didn’t end up meeting with the lads (Eurovision was far too compelling) but did sit and exchange messages with the Tall Traveler and Mystery Boy for the rest of the evening.

Still, another addition to my “Men Are Confusing” list.