Humour

Songs by The Script from the Woman’s Point of View

OK, look, I’ll give my side of things. But it’s, like, just my side of things, OK? Go on, so…

The Man Who Can’t Be Moved

Look, the break-up wasn’t smooth by any means. I won’t deny that. Time passes, though, so you’d think it would be OK by now. Instead, I hear the Ex is camping in a sleeping bag on a street corner down the road from my flat. One of the girls from work tells me he’s sitting there with a sign that says:

“If you see this girl can you tell her where I am?”

That’s bad enough, but he also has a picture of me that he’s showing to everyone. Like, he knows I live in the area? It’s absolutely mortifying. “If she starts to miss me, she’ll know where to find me…” he says, as if I don’t have his mobile number? Honestly, this kind of carry on is why it’s over with us.

Anyway, my mam called the guards a few times to move him on but he just won’t go. It’s attention-seeking, if you ask me. He’s probably more interested in getting on TV out of it or something like that. All I know is, if I run out of milk, I have to go 15 minutes out of my way instead of just popping down to the shop that he’s sitting outside – it’s a bloody pain in the hole.

 

Breakeven

Well, it’s been a few months and I’ve moved on. I’m seeing someone, it’s going alright. That’s until the Ex finds out, of course. Like, it’s been over for months? I thought we were past the worst when he stopped camping out on the street corner, but no. He found out that I’m dating someone – not even four dates in, mind you – and he’s taking it really badly. Like, the same guy who admitted to never putting me first when we were seeing each other… seriously.

I wake up every morning to texts sent around 2 or 3am. It’s the usual “are you up?”, followed by a stream of angry texts saying he’s “still alive but barely breathing” or “wide awake while you’ve no trouble sleeping…” After that, he goes on and on about his heartbreak. You know, we didn’t even go out for that long… where does he get off saying things like “the best part of me was always you?” For a finish, he lays the guilt on thick, saying he’s “falling to pieces” as if I was in no way affected by splitting up, at all…

So anyway, long story short, I’m thinking of getting a new number.

 

Talk You Down

Right, I’m heading to London for the weekend to see the girls. Well, it’s Thursday night and I’m flying Friday afternoon. There I am, I gather all my things and squeeze them into a smaller case I have spare, but it’s not working at all. Where’s my actual suitcase? Of course… Of course it would be in the storage cupboard of the Ex’s place… Last thing I wanted after the way he’s been acting over the phone. Anyway, I text him asking if I can get my suitcase back.

Silence.

Like, is he for real? I couldn’t check my phone without there being a text from him before now. I actually text him and he ignores me? I carry on packing and, like an hour later, there goes my phone. Now, it’s well after midnight at this stage. I’m literally only still up because I’m trying to get packed. It’s the Ex:

“Yeah, suitcase is here. I can drop it over to you?”

Oh my God, no way am I inviting him over here. So I text back:

“No, that’s grand. Would you mind if I call over now? Sorry it’s so late.”

This time, he’s right back with “No problem, see you soon.” I get in my car, drive straight to his. When I get there, he’s smoking? Like, he never smoked in the entire time we went out? I’m like, weird… but I just need the suitcase and I’ll be on my way. Of course, the question comes “So, where is it you’re going?” And I don’t want to get into this so I’m just like “Gonna stay with friends in London”, end of.

Anyway, off I went to London and had a great time. Only found out when I got home that the Ex was arrested for dangerous driving on the Thursday night. It took a gang of squad cars to pull him over on his way to the airport. His defence? Screaming that he was trying to stop me from committing “relationship suicide.” Honestly, the man is demented…

 

Before the Worst

He sent me an email with this as the subject line. I… I just deleted it, actually…

 

For the First Time

OK… Look, things took a bit of a slide for me. It ended with the other guy, my contract didn’t get renewed at work… All a bit shit, really. So what’s one of the last things anyone wants when they’re feeling low? To bump into an ex… Same dole queue, though, couldn’t avoid him.

Other people don’t want to bump into an ex because they might be doing well for themselves in comparison. I didn’t have that problem. Like, it was lunchtime but I could already smell the whiskey on his breath? So we were both down in the dumps. He asks me if I wanted to go for a drink later and my face must be like, OH GOD! He quickly adds, “Just as friends, like…” I thought, ah here, for old time’s sake, what’s the harm?

We’re both broke so we hit up the corner shop for a cheap bottle of wine each. And, well, it ended up being a nice evening. We talked a load of crap and had a bit of a laugh. It was harmless. Or so I thought… Woke up next day and checked my phone – a heap of messages.

“Last night was like meeting you for the first time.”

“I know we were smiling but I was close to tears, it’s been too long.”

“I know these times are hard but don’t give up on me baby.”

Baby… At least the hangover could be cured…

 

Nothing

The next night, he drunk dials me. It’s only about 10pm but he sounds like he’s twisted. He roars my name down the phone. I can hear his mates in the background trying to stop him, but it sounds like he’s run away from them.

“I’m comin’ o’er t-t-t talk,” he says, his speech all slurred.

I tell him not to bother, that I’m not at home anyway. Like, I am at home but I don’t want him knocking down the door at this hour – especially when he’s in a state.

“You nee-“ he burps and pauses, then starts to hiccup. “You need (hic) to know (hic) that I’m still (hic) in love with you (hic).”

Honestly, I can’t. I just feel like a fool for opening this can of worms all over again. I put the phone down and go make a cup of tea. I don’t hear a thing from the kitchen and when I get back, he’s ended the call. I switch the phone off at that point and swear – like, honestly – swear to myself that I’ll get a new number tomorrow.

 

If You Ever Come Back

He sent me an email with this as the subject line. Again, I didn’t open it. I mean, not with a title like that on it.

A few weeks later, I heard there was a break-in at the Ex’s place; they robbed everything. Except that they didn’t break in, the door was left open with a key left under the front mat and all. Now the insurance company won’t pay out because the Ex is at fault for not securing his property. I mean, I feel really bad for him, but who doesn’t lock their front door these days? Only an eejit…

 

Six Degrees of Separation

Flicking through Facebook and I see that the Ex has posted this:

 

You’re only doing things out of desperation

You’re going through six degrees of separation

First, you think the worst is a broken heart

What’s gonna kill you is the second part

And the third, is when your world splits down the middle

And fourth, you’re gonna think that you fixed yourself

Fifth, you see them out with someone else

And the sixth, is when you admit that you may have fucked up a little

 

And, like, it reminds me that I haven’t unfollowed him yet. Blocked.

 

No Good in Goodbye

He sent me an email with this as the subject line. I must have, like, been in a good humour at the time, because I decided to open it. It’s a poem:

Where’s the “good” in “goodbye”?

Where’s the “nice” in “nice try”?

Where’s the “us” in “trust gone”?

Where’s the “soul” in “soldier on”?

Now I’m the “lone” in “lonely”

‘Cause I don’t own you only

I can take this mistake

But I can’t take the ache from heartbreak

No, I can’t take the ache from heartbreak

 

I couldn’t help myself. I replied:

[Good]bye / [Nice] try / Tr[us]t gone

Soul is spelled differently to Soldier.

Heartbreak doesn’t have a “c”

 

He didn’t write back. And that’s the last I heard from him.

 

***

 

Look, I accept that there might be more to it than all that. And, like, I should have seen the Ex’s signs earlier than I did to save all of this hassle. But I was attracted to the musician, the artist, the tortured soul… when, like, all of that was the first clue, really? I mean, the first song he ever shared with me was called “We Cry” and the chorus is him repeating “Together we cry”, over and over. Like, that’s a statement of intent. I think he’s actually addicted to sadness. But that’s just my opinion… OK, I think we’re done here.