I am sure I have made all kinds of mistakes in my life.
And also expect people have taken the blame for some of them just as I have notched up a few which were not truly mine.
When I think of mistakes that came good this one is top of the list…
When I knew my man the first time I had recently split up with Seb, who eventually fathered my children.
The story goes…
As soon as I met my man I recognised he was one of my kind, a kindred spirit, possibly the one. Whatever you want to call it. But I also recognised it was soooo the wrong time for us. Call it intuition if you like. So I walked away from him and chose to get back with Seb.
Having spent time with my man, and experiencing a strong connection, I knew by getting back with Seb to a certain extent I was settling for second best. But finding out I was pregnant fast tracked the notion – “I’ve made my bed, I better lie in it.”
For a while when I had first gave birth I do believe I loved Seb.
The years went on and our relationship proved to be a dreadful mistake. We were not sexually compatible at all and even though he had a sharp mind I felt superior to him. I much prefer to look up to and admire a partner.
So the mistake had been made. But of course I have ended up with two amazing children who are now young adults. They would not be the people they are if I hadn’t got back with the man who would became their father.
Then searching my mind for when I took the blame I remembered this funny little true tale about a time I was blamed for someone else’s mistake/actions.
Hung, drawn and blamed
Set the scene – Cornwall. The early twenties version of me plus two friends drove into Newquay for a girl’s weekend away.
I’m in the passenger seat and as my friend Anne drove along the high street I was suddenly aware that she did not have her eyes on the road. Instead she has craned her neck as far as possible to check out a guy in a black wet-suit, hugging his sculpted physique, and clasping a surf board under his arm. Dark haired and broody looking.
“Oh… my… Did you see that Greek-god-guy?” Anne finally turned her eyes to the traffic lights ahead and realising they were red did an emergency stop.
The surfing dude crossed the road in front of the car. Anne’s eyes were on stalks and her mouth open.
We went out that eve and the three of us discussed how hot he was. Not really my type though. I liked skinny guys with long hair – the hippy type.
The following evening we were in a night club when my other friend Jane exclaimed, “girls, look who is over the other side of the bar.”
Glancing over I saw the surfing guy and – practically glued to him – a petite brunette.
“Ah, he’s out of bounds ladies. See his sidekick.” I observed.
“Damn, he is so hot though.” Anne whined still unable to avert her eyes away from him.
Indeed both her and Jane kept a close watch on his activity. It was a little embarrassing. I warned them they were being very obvious and that it would be noticed.
I was right. There I was minding my own business when suddenly the guys girlfriend pinned me up against the wall. Shouting that her man had noticed the attention he had been getting from our bit of the bar and I was to keep my fucking eyes off her property.
Looking back the really funny thing about this was I had heels on which usually pitches me a little under six foot. This girl was tiny and probably came up to my boobs. And incidentally I had a great cleavage on show that night.
I’m not a fighter. I managed to persuade her verbally to back off by explaining her fella was really not my cup of tea. I thought about squealing on Anne. But decided there was no point. Once I’d calmed the aggravated girl down she tottered off to her boyfriend. I noted he was chuckling behind his pint glass.
I told Anne she owed me one and demanded a large vodka and orange…