Chapter Text

STILL

The Impossible List: Why Men Will Always Fail Us

You know what's a real kick in the teeth? Seeing your sorta-boyfriend propose to someone else while you're wearing his T-shirt.

Not metaphorically. Literally.

It was like the universe itself wanted to make you as embarrassed as possible by putting his face on your chest.

Let me tell you more.

Just like every girl hopes, the day kicked off magically. My Situationship paid for fancy spa treatments (manicure, pedicure and any other ‘cure’ they offered), I paid for my hair, and then a box showed up at my hotel door with a note that said: Just for you, My Melody xox

Sounds perfect, right? I thought so too.

There I was, bouncing off the walls in my hotel room, blasting Pat Benatar’s Love Is a Battlefield, and feeling on top of the world. My brooding friend-with-benefits had finally looked at me, seeing not just me, but the possibility of our future. I felt super sure of myself and even wore my best red heels. The ones only suitable for a special occasion…a very special occasion.

Dressed to kill, I strutted into that theatre with my heart on my sleeve (and the perfect blow-dry).

Then it happened. He called me on stage, presenting me to the world with a searing kiss on my cheek, and…

Stop right there. Dream over.

Because owning the stage like a five-foot-eight tanned goddess at Paris Fashion Week was another woman. She sauntered over, kissed his cheeks with a possessiveness that seemed natural to her—and a clear hands off to me.

Then it happened.

He lowered down onto one knee.

My heart broke into countless pieces, mirroring the fractured reflections of the disco ball and the colourful confetti falling on the stage.

He had a hopeful glint in his eyes as he looked at her. I had never seen one before when he looked at me.

I felt a wave of dread as I understood my error. My future self recoiled at the thought of all the imminent failures.

So whilst he was down on one knee—serenading another woman with poetic words of soulmates and ever afters—I stood alongside him, clapping like a chump dressed as an oversized garden gnome. (And trying not to puke up the pizza I’d scoffed before heading to the show.)

Maybe you'll all argue that it was my mistake for not breaking up with him when he was more interested in late-night dining and private restaurants, than pub quizzes with my friends and lunches with my family.

But when he offered his apologies in rhymes that bloomed like roses, it was easy to let him off the hook, blaming it on how he lived. Not him.

I went against every gut feeling and gave myself away, like a fool sharing their streaming password on the first date.

So, the short version is: I'm back in reality (and sans his t-shirt), attempting to fix my broken heart by drinking costly airport alcohol.

Yes, love really is a battlefield, and I continue to lose spectacularly.

See, Mr Situationship wasn’t the first one to chew me up and spit me out.

We'll begin with Desperate Dan. At the delicate age of fourteen, Dan seemed like the picture of perfection, with his easygoing smile and a tendency to bawl while watching Coco. But the day he introduced me as 'the decoy'—to Steve, the actual love of his life—my heart shattered into a million pieces.

Next up, Man-whore Matt, with his slicked-back hair and charming smile, who caught me off guard by announcing he was a lead actor in popular movies. Popular being the red flag. Turns out he filmed the movies in his bedroom using a webcam. The instant I understood the specific genre, filming spot, and price, I knew I wanted nothing to do with it—or him.

Then finally, Not-right-now Neil. Ah, Neil, he smelled like rain and old books. He couldn't cope when the network cancelled his favourite vampire show. When I told him to find something else to watch, he said I was an embarrassment, not just to myself but also to my cavern. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I was nothing but a mere mortal, so I broke up with him instead.

Following Neil, and still no luck with Mr Situationship, my wonderful BFF suggested we get together to make a list. The list became my unwavering guide.

It’s called The Impossible List. Ten impossible qualities I expect from guys.

It all began as a joke. But, I'm thinking this is why I'm always bummed out. It isn’t a joke. It’s exactly what I want.

My list goes like this:

1. Needs to be intriguing, but not closed off.
2. Must be tough, yet tender.
3. Has to have a cool job, but not a job where you feel you're just a supporting player.
4. Gotta be over six feet, because I'm (apparently) only into tall people.
5. Needs to be able to cook, and not only steak and pasta.
6. Should be funny, but not try too hard to be funny.
7. Loves games, and always plays to win, even against me.
8. No flip-flops allowed (sorry, not my call).
9. Smells great.
10. He's gotta be the type to pick up on details. Like I love flowers, or how I always try local tea when I travel.

It's crazy, right? Unrealistic. Can’t happen.

But isn't that what everyone wants? The impossible?

Just look at me. I ended up with someone who was close enough—tall, mysterious, had a cool job—then BAM. A surprise proposal!

Though maybe my expectations are not the issue. Perhaps I'm setting the bar too low, hoping someone will eventually reach it, which ends in my disappointment.

So here’s the deal: I'm done with mysterious guys and complicated problems.

Let’s see how long that lasts.

Ladybug