The End

As Meryl was busy at her yoga class yesterday I took the opportunity to contact Pat and end our affair. We met in a quiet coffee shop in town, the perfect place to break the news or so I thought. She didn't take it kindly and hit me with a barrage of insults. The volume of her voice rising with each expletive. After she had finished verbally castrating me she sat down and started sobbing. Loudly. Like a tired child being marched out of a confectioners without any sweets. She was inconsolable, a nearby customer offered her a tissue and suggested I went to get her a glass of water. I got up swiftly feeling a room full of eyes on me. I could tell what they were thinking 'How could he finish with a woman on Valentine's Day?' When I returned they were deep in hushed conversation, I could hear the odd phrase being uttered 'They're all the same', 'You're better off without him' and 'Unbelievable'. I checked my watch, I had to leave. Meryl was due out of her yoga class and I'd planned a surprise Valentine's lunch. By now Pat had reached over the table and was clinging to my arm. I sat unable to move, considering my next move as she pleaded with her eyes. It would be so easy to take her back. But I had to be strong for her and my sanity. This woman was driving me round the twist! I removed her tightly clenched hand and said quietly 'sorry I have to go.' And walked out. That, I hope is the End.

U4Me Am ur 53XXXy Laydee

Pat's barrage of filthy, misspelt texts has left me somewhat exhausted. So much so I had to take to my bed after work this afternoon. I was woken by the doorbell. Thinking my daughter had forgotton her key I stumbled to the door to discover Pat, dressed like a cut-price extra from Moulin Rouge. Disregarding her highly flammable outfit I let her in, put the kettle on and attempted to gather my thoughts. Pat took slow, gliding steps about the kitchen, performing a bizarre act with my best earthenware mugs and a packet of herb tea. "Take sugar?" she burred in a totally un-sultry manner. I shook my head. Meryl was due round in an hour, how was I going to get out of this one?

Tummy trouble

My good friend and partner in swimming bath submersion, Windy Posh Boy Piers, kindly dropped off a bag of organic fibre flakes yesterday evening. The stress of leading a double life has caused a few gut troubles of late. I quietly confided in Piers as we trundled home following a mid afternoon swim and sure enough he came up with the goods. He also advised that I lay off my daily treat - a bottle of cherryade and lent me a Tummy Cuddler to try out. Just as he was leaving Meryl arrived, all dolled up and nowhere to go, except the pokey confines of my living room. Piers was clearly taken aback by her beauty and offered to take us all out for a drink. We arrived at a nearby bar and he clearly forgot what he had just told me, ordering me a large shandy after which he cornered Meryl and cajouled her into modelling his Tummy Cuddler for his new brochure. She seemed entranced by his slick patter, thankfully he kept her occupied whilst I fielded calls from a rather over-keen Pat.

Utterly Ashamed

Never before have I had two women in my life. I am a two timing novice. I feel like the master of deception. I feel utterly ashamed. I wanted to interrupt Meryl yesterday evening as she was blethering on about a recent modelling assignment for a wide fit shoe company but I didn't have the guts. I wanted to pull her aside, hold her in my arms and drown in her perfumed hair and body. Then I'd have reason to end it with Pat, because yes folks it has started. Oh yes. I am aching from the carnal gymnastics I have been performing over the past two days. I still love Meryl but she gives me no inkling that the feeling is mutual. Our relationship is like siblings rather than lovers. Take last night for example, we had a light and healthy smoked salmon and sweet potato supper, watched Corrie and she went home. All very well but we've been together for over a month and our most tactile moment was when she squeezed past me in the kitchen to empty the bin. Meanwhile I have Pat texting me absolute filth and requesting my company for a bit of 'How's your father.' What is a man to do?