Take a happily single girl and an other-worldly beautiful boy, and watch her walls crumble. I’d been swept up in a turquoise-eyed haze for the last three months only to come crashing down on a wave of reality: hot guys exclusively suffer from emotional deficits.

It all fell apart when I asked him to come and meet my friends, without accurately predicting the weather forecast. Should I accept responsibility for the fact that I was the reason he had to walk for 20 minutes in the rain? Because apparently that was my downfall. I suppose looking that good comes with a price, like kryptonite to Superman, Sven must not get his caramel locks, or crisp white shirt caught in a shower. This catalysed the classic “what are we?” conversation, which had perhaps been a long time coming. And my punishment: Sven needs space. SVEN NEEDS SPACE?! The fact that I needed space from his unicorn shaped ego didn’t matter, because Sven said it first. And thus Sven had the power.

In this warped reality, and not helped by a five day long night-shift stretch, I became neurotic.

It started with a sext-ual photo.. Which he humiliatingly ignored for 4 hours.
It moved onto a clingy text, including an awks crying laughing face to lighten the mood,
And finally a hilarious, if I may say so, sarcastic response to his blasé reply.

But have you ever tried to “break up with” someone who you weren’t officially with in the first place? How best to deal with this situation?
I sought my bestie and source of all knowledge, Brigitte, for an answer. But apparently, no matter how Hell hathcool the girl, when a boy has damaged your pride, the inner psycho is unleashed. Brigitte’s only advise was: don’t do what I did… During her stint in Australia, she’d been living with, what I can only call, the Town Lothario. When she finally came to terms with the fact that she wasn’t his one and only, she took revenge. In an unfortunately unsuccessful drunken rage, she threw a tin can at his car. When this failed to have any effect whatsoever, let alone the crushing indent she had imagined, she settled for pushing in his wing mirrors, and lifting up his hell hath 3windscreen wipers.

This got me reminiscing: the time I left the front door of a guy’s city centre flat wide open because he refused to see me out, in favour of a lie in. A story my friend Valerie told me, in which she took a one night stands credit card (with no intention of using it, just to cause an inconvenience) after a very strange exchange, in which he locked her knickers in a bird cage, with a live budgie.

Petty vandalism and theft was clearly not the answer for my woes. But it got me thinking, why do we so often feel the need to leave destruction in our wake when dealing with moronic boys? The common denominator in all of these scenarios is that the “men” in each situation lacked the respect necessary to care about how they were making us feel, and therefore a conversation would simply not have done. Fortunately, Sven and I did have a basis of friendship underneath whatever other kind of “ship” we were in. So in the only mature decision I’d made in a week I decided to talk to him about it. And after a few weird  weeks: in which I don’t think either of us knew what was going on, and a perfectly timed backpacking holiday: a chance for me to regain some sanity, we mutually came to the decision that we should strip back to friendship only. Time will tell if it’s possible to reverse a relationship like this…