Letting my hair down

I’ve spent a lot of my life doing the things other people wish they had done. That’s not been the case the last 12 months, or even longer. In the vernacular I’ve pulled my head in. It’s been my choice to do that, but not something I’ve really wanted to do. I like my indulgences. I like to splash out and enjoy. I blame circumstances for my more recent ascetic condition. Much I simply could not do as I did before. Other things I chose not to do (barring the occasional random tryst) because I thought it not right given present circumstances.

In recent times I’ve revised that attitude. There’s little to cheer about, and bugger all light and colour. Jack’s been too good a boy, and it was doing me no good at all. I’m still unable to fully enjoy life as I would like to, but I’ve relaxed some of the constraints I had placed upon myself. Like Rapunzel I felt like letting my hair down.

I’ve been more social in recent times, but the first real sign of change came on Tuesday, when I met a woman for a breakfast date.

I’m still wary of this. Despite my situation I still get steady attention, and some of it pretty enthusiastic. In my monkish state that was gratifying, but actually following through on it left me uncertain on many counts. Is this the right thing? How much do I confess to them? It felt a strange dichotomy, and it was only really the persistence of this woman that finally had me relent and agree to meet with her.

We had a good breakfast and a pleasant conversation. I’ve made it clear to all that I’m not after anything more than a bit of fun, and she fit the bill. Smart, funny, lively, she was good company, but not someone I could ever see myself being seriously involved with. No dramas.

The funny bit was that we found we knew the same people. As we discussed it it became odd that we had never met until now. Quite amazingly one of my best mates is  a minority shareholder in her business. Another friendly acquaintance of mine, who I saw just last week and whose new years eve party I attended, is just about her best friend. Interesting, and all slightly disturbing.

Last night then I went to a function to celebrate world Malbec day. It was at Union Hall, a venue I’d never even knew existed, though I’d been to the Belgian Beer Cafe fronting it dozens of times in my life. There I sampled umpteen Malbecs from here and Argentina, and tried the competing empanadas.

It was a good crowd of interesting people, and so it was no great surprise to bump into people I knew.

The first lot where friends of friends. We sat and compared notes on the wine and the empanadas. Venturing out to check out the 2007 Malbec I’d been told of I bumped into another friend.

This one was M, the mutual friend we had discovered on Tuesday. Amongst her entourage was a woman I had met at her new years eve party. On that occasion we had engaged in a long conversation about all manner of things and hit it off big time. I may have even mentioned her on here – once upon a time she’d been one of the Big M girls. Last night we hit the same note. I like her.

I felt a little awkward though. Normally I would have mentioned to M how I had breakfast with her friend (which apparently she knew all about). I didn’t want to have to explain it though, so said nothing. Instead Big M and I chatted for 20 minutes before I made my excuses  – I felt I was being rude to the others and so went to check in with them. I was held up there, and by the time I returned Big M was gone. I’ll see her again.

At this point I started to work the crowd and sample a few more wines. I got talking to two girls, just to be nice to start with, then with more intent as they responded with unexpected warmth. They were both about 25, one was American, and the other a tall Australian. All sorts of ideas went through my head naturally, but in the end I walked away. What am I going to do – take them home to my couch?

Still and all there was something invigorating about the night’s activities, and it wasn’t  just the Malbec. I’ve been uncustomarily well behaved, but last night that sexual self roused. I felt like me again, and hooray for that.

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