Girlfriend. Blech.

I was thirteen. Let me just get that in before you think I’m a total tosser. Anyway. I cant remember the whens of the situation but I remember the setting. It was a “study period” (lolz, study) and we were sitting the home economics classroom being watched over by the homicidal Mrs Groves. Seriously if you breathed too loudly she’d disembowel you and wear your head as a trophy. Her nickname, Grooves, came from another habit of hers entirely.

Me and Hannah end up sitting at the same table across from one another, like prisoners at the lunch table, and we get talking. Talking until Grooves dances into the room dragging behind her a giant battle axe and hollering threats of cannibalism. So with that I went back to trying to figure out what this particular branch of mathematics was about. After a few silent minutes of staring at a text book a new piece of paper flies into my field of vision. I pick it up and unfolded it, glancing and smiling at Hannah as I did so.

“Like OMG what is up with her?” the note says. What the fuck does OMG mean? I wonder. In fact that’s what I write back, or words to that effect (I don’t think I swore though, you can’t swear in front of the woman it aint riight.) Kirsty, the best friend (need I say more?), laughed out loud.

“Be quiet please.” Grooves requested in a dangerously calm voice.

“What does “lol” mean?” I ask in response to the next message. At this point in my life I had not started playing RuneScape and knew nothing of the shorthand “Text Speak”.

The conversation carries on like this for a while and I feel the stirring of friendship, which is always nice: making new friends. Then. Then I unfurl the next piece of paper.

“Will you go out with me?” it asks. When you look like I do, anyone asking you out should be taken as the highest compliment and being put off by a small thing like gender is really being very picky.

“Sure.” I reply hoping that having a girlfriend will help this “gay phase” pass. Of course I was ignoring the fact that I hadn’t had a straight phase yet (still waiting for it too).

Some how my mum found out about this event (I swear she’s planted a listening device to me or something) and started spreading the news around; doling it out like confetti at a wedding or caviar at a banker’s convention. Granny was so pleased she gave me money. With a toothless grin and a wheezy smokers chuckle I remember her saying “Aye hae iss and take your new lassy to the pictures, mibie get a seat in the back row.” Like you, dear reader, I almost vomited (talking with parents about sex is bad enough but grandparents implying a blowjob in the back row of the cinema is mental abuse). Three days after the decision to say “sure” mum is badgering me to “get together” with Hannah, so she decides to call her up on my behalf. After getting her number from the phone book. How dare she!? No really it’s my girlfriend and my mother is caller her up! Is she trying to make me look foolish?

This was probably entirely the most awkward and embarrassing phone call of my life.

“Erm, hi Hannah.” I say.

“Hello” she says and I’m sure I can hear Kirsty laughing in the background.

“Was just wondering if you wanted to go to the cinema or something? You know I’m going away on Friday yeah? So just thought you might wanna do something or something before I go.” I ramble.

“Er, I’m actually kinda busy tonight.” She says.

“Oh… well that’s ok.” I say trying to keep the right amount of disappointment in my voice: enough so she doesn’t feel bad but enough to convince my mum who decided to supervise the phone call.

“Bye then.” I say before hanging up rather abruptly, almost callous.

As it happened the trip away was going down to Wales (to se my dads family; not for the sights) but I won’t go into details, in part cos I don’t remember any except for one instance on the way down.

I was sitting in one of the motor way stop toilets. It was a gleaming cubicle clean and disappointingly had no phone numbers on the wall. I really, really needed to masturbate I hadn’t in a while and my balls were busting. But for some unfathomable reason I felt guilty. Every thought I had about Gary that coincided with a self pleasuring stroke caused my conscience great pain. And it was all her fault. And it was like this for the whole two weeks I was away! I felt dirty every time I left a bathroom.

Eventually I returned from the holiday and went back to school. The first day back I never saw her but everyone new that we were “going out”. Like syphilis it had gone around except people didn’t stay at home when they caught it. Jeers and sarcastic congratulations followed me around that day. Questions were asked by “the lads” if I’d done her yet and such promiscuous activities were enquired about.

But on the second day. At break time, I walk up to her and say “hi, do you wanna go somewhere and talk?” the plan was to tell her that I liked guys and that I shouldn’t have said yes and such but I never got that far.

“Actually George, no, I don’t really want to go out with you anymore.”

I was stunned.

She’s breaking up with me? What gives her the right!? What did I do? She asked me out in the first place, I’m the one that decides if it gets called off or not. She blatantly strung me along. Although, unsure of the correct response, I manage to say.

“Oh, ok.” Realising that that’s probably a bit too nonchalant I add “I’ll see you around.”

The fall out of the break up was almost as interesting as the relationship. ‘The lads’ at school made all sorts of obscene suggestions which, though I laugh them up now, were actually pretty confusing for a naive thirteen year old.

Granny gave me more money – because it’s a commodity for any occasion – while informing me that “she disnae now what she’s missin’.” I really struggle to keep lunch down whenever she speaks.

Mum was probably the worst offender though, constantly trying to console me and make sure I was alright when in reality I was nothing more than perplexed and slightly relived.

Thankfully I have learned my lesson though. Girls are icky, stick to boys. Literally.