He Really Is That Into Me.

I take my men to the best places. Back in October, Blue Moon and I ventured forth to the Fulham car pound. Tonight, my Chatterbox and I went in search of the Park Lane car pound. It was quite a mission. Standing outside the Grovesnor hotel, I had to ring the car pound hotline to enquire where exactly on Park Lane I might find my old faithful. The instructions were vague but I was warned not to venture forth alone into what is a huge, dank, underground car park below Hyde Park. Good job I brought Chatterbox along for the ride then ey? And the hotline wasn’t kidding. We walked down never ending, gloomily lit corridors – that really wouldn’t have been amiss in the film “The Shining”. This, I imagine is exactly the place that rapists and murderers might strike. The temptation would just be too great. Think of all the unsuspecting and naïve South West London girls with a penchant for parking in the wrong place at the wrong time, who would never guess that not only would Westminster council thieve one's car but would also deliver it to the equivalent of hell on earth and then tell one to come and get it. Oh yes, it can’t have taken long for the local nutters to work that out. So if I had to venture down these corridors alone, I expect I would be slightly hysterical. As it was, my 6ft 3” Chatterbox gallantly escorted me, even giving me a piggy back over a rather peculiar puddle that came out of nowhere and would have ruined my blue suede shoes.

On the bright side, it was an opportunity if nothing else, to do a bit more chatting which continued, over dinner ( in what felt like heaven after our ordeal) in his cosy local pub in Notting Hill …my car parked outside, this time, with rather more care.

The upshot is this…I had just assumed that Chatterbox was a rather different kettle of fish to Mr Comfort and Blue Moon… he is straight up with me, he always wants to see me, meeting my mother was a minor event, we have weekends away booked two months in advance and he called me his girlfriend before I had even suggested that I might stay the night. So, I reasoned, he was just a different sort of guy to his predecessors. But apparently not. For tonight I learnt that when he met me, he was actually involved in two casual relationships and he had absolutely no interest in making either of them his girlfriend. After our first date, he simply cleared them out of his little black book and delivered them to the relics of distant memory. “But you’re not like that” I muttered at him - confused. “I’m not like that with you” he concluded.

So in other words, he’s quite capable of being just like Mr Comfort and Blue Moon but for whatever reason, with me, he’s not. Which, (seeing as Sister Bridget has already revealed our digestion of self-help books) reminds me of a book called “He’s just not that into you”.

I’ve been hanging onto Blue Moon for so long…analysing every minor suggestion that there might be room for status elevation and all along it was a complete and utter waste of time for he simply was…just not that into me.

And no, I don’t have a fear that Chatterbox will suddenly do a runner. Because anyone that escorts you through hell on earth, carries you over a big puddle, offers to pay half your car pound fine even though it’s clearly not their fault and then takes you to dinner to cheer you up… really is that into you.