It was late on Good Friday and Ruf and I had popped out to the pub so he could introduce me to one of his oldest friends.
The warm weather meant that the hostelry was very full and extremely lively but we got a seat and there was a waitress service in operation so we didn’t have to queue at the bar indoors.
His friend was shy but fun and, being finally able to meet him seemed like the final stitch in the security of my future.
In the midst of a conversation, Ruf suddenly stood up.
Within moments, his arms were full of tall, slim, blonde but this happens frequently – he is well known and well loved.
They were standing some feet away chatting so I couldn’t hear what was being said but, after a few minutes, he drew her back to where I was sitting and introduced us:
“Joanna, this is Sam…”
We shook hands and smiled and exchanged the usual pleasantries but there was something nagging at the back of my brain. Instinctively, some subconscious part of me had gone onto alert.
Was it his body language or the way his voice had just trailed off… or was it the name?
Something was not right and every primal physical response was screaming confused signals that my brain desperately tried to assess and assimilate.
And then the penny dropped.
Sam… Oh, God, it’s Sam.
Ruf’s Other Woman.
My mouth went dry and my brain was jumping back four years to The Question and a year before that to the events of another Easter weekend where there was a betrayal which meant I almost lost Ruf before we had even really begun.
OK, I’ve read it a few times and can’t make out what’s happening.
BUT…
do you want me to come over there and beat up Ruf?
or give him a couple of thumps to quiet his quest?
(hopefully you’ll say no because in the first place, I can’t afford it, in the second place, I’m just old enough to get my wank tied in a knot, and lastly, I have this nagging feeling that I’m missing some kind of information.
Heck, I found a photo to paint, wrote a note on the page, and Jeanie said you replied …by asking if I was drinking again???
Hardly.
Oh…I WANT to, sometimes.
But I don’t.
But it is a good picture of a rear end, the yellow wall bouncing the light onto your sheets and all back up onto the wall…
But, nope. No drinking.
Especially now. Show’s day after tomorrow.
boneman recently posted..Failure is a Detour- not a Dead-End Street
Oh I see! So sorry, I just couldn’t make head nor tail of the other comment… and I would never have said that if I had thought it through properly x
If you want a view of the back of my head to finish the image, try http://andeatingit2.com/2008/07/17/hnt-rear/
After five years of torturing myself over a mental infidelity, I was finally introduced to Sam, who I have always called Ruf’s other woman, when we met her, by chance, in the pub.
You can read what happened on Monday of this week… and decide whether he needs a good kicking or not :)
well, judging from your :) I’m guessing the later revalation was the correct one.
Will wait till Monday before packing my bags.
(hope it turns out well, because it’s getting harder than the dickens to hitchhike airplanes. (danged pilots just WON’T pull over at any old cloud to give a guy a lift.)
boneman recently posted..Failure is a Detour- not a Dead-End Street