Beep-beep-beeeeeep...paging the perfectly fine girl over her ex...

When Suit and Tie suggested a 'call' last night I thought it would be tough. Turns out he had a 'great idea' and wanted to know if I was free Saturday. I lied. Told him it's my best friend's birthday. Side note: Is anyone having a birthday Saturday? Someone with an opening for a best friend? He made me say yes to a date on Friday instead. So perhaps if that best friend interview could happen on Friday? I'll buy the cocktails?
 
The Boxer is emailing from America to ask 'how much I miss him' - would it be too callous to reply 'who are you again?'...
 
Meanwhile...my crush on The English Gentleman from the weekend appears to be gathering strength. It's bad. In the season of the flu I think I've caught something less contagious but potentially more serious. What will this mean for all the others? And more importantly, what will it mean for my blog? I may have to get out on blogging principle. I can't have just started to document my search for the Prince Charming and then find him...it doesn't work like that. 
 
And yet the funny thing about getting a new crush is that other contenders can sense it. It's that mandatory 'man-pager' they all get during their first break- up, aged 14. Some keep it in a draw and some keep it in their draws but we all know it - they've all got one! It's the pager that stays silent all the time you dream about them, long for them to call, will them to think about you (or at least sob silently as they flip through old photos of you together)...and then BOOM...beep beep beep beeeeeeeeeeep - she's happy...she's excited about someone else...time turn up again....beeeeeeeeeeep.
 
At this point you've obviously rediscovered who you were before he made a mess of you, lost those 5 lbs you gained from all the 3 course dinners, extinguished the love candle, downed copious cocktails in an attempt to develop ex-amnesia, thrown away gifts...obviously keeping all Cartier, designer bags and immaculate clothing items. You've finally been able to return to your favourite sushi restaurant...where they still remember you and have the decorum not to ask where your male dining partner has disappeared to. And more importantly you've just met a guy who doesn't remind you of all the things your ex used to do right, do wrong - or just generally do and so remind you that he exists at all.
 
And then it starts - every guy you've been serious (or not) with will now start calling - it's inevitable...they'll call, sms, email, sky write, stalk you on the street - they'll send flowers, they'll ask after you through friends or they'll put a tombstone ad in the Financial Times. This uncanny timing is the concrete, indisputable evidence of the existence of the man-pager and frankly even though I realise that they must be a huge revenue generator for telecom providers, they need to be discontinued. Permanently.
 
These crappy pagers only get us into trouble.

A friend with whom I shared tapas with last night was telling me that her ex's pager had been going off recently. Then he saw her looking as gorgeous as ever, and clearly not crazy anymore - a couple of months apart does wonders for your skin and your spirit! Anyway seeing her sparkle the way she did when he first met her, he decided to try again. And what did she do? Not only did she neglect to grab his pager and his pride, and fling it as far across the bar as humanly possible. Instead she smiled her cutest smile, proceeded to fall for him all over again, take him home and bonk him. Not the smartest move ever.

What makes highly intelligent, beautiful, generally together women go crazy for a guy who has her number plugged into his emotional pager? I've come to the conclusion it has got to be the fear of failure. I'm guilty of it - feeling that I failed in a relationship and then trying to 'give it another go' as though it was a soufflé which never rose.

The more the pagers of the past seem to be going off - the more I have to resign myself to the fact that they now have the wrong number - and I have a new crush. And frankly I know which call I'd rather pick up and it doesn't involve trying to rescue flat desserts.