Old boyfriend blues

OK, so before I left Newfoundland, I had to dump my boyfriend. I say "dump" in the loose sense of the word, because he knew that I was coming here and he knew that I was going to do a masters degree so we had both agreed that it was going to be a temporary thing and between you and me and the lamppost I was kinda glad when it ended because I had gotten tired of the whole thing.

But I want to be NICE, right? So I let him be my buddy on Facebook. And I give him my Skype details and my landline and whatever. And I SAY, "So let's keep in touch," but I don't mean it. I mean, we all know that "let's keep in touch," means the opposite. Right? Right? So of course now he's calling all the time, forgetting about the three-and-a-half hour time difference (we Newfoundlanders are so contrary we are in our own half-hour time zone) and I'm trying to figure out how to get him out of my life. Still trying to be nice. Of course.

I'm telling you -- he was getting on Bepe's nerves too. So finally he calls last night at nine and we're just watching reruns of Friends on TV and Bepe picks up the phone and says, "I'm sorree to tell you thees, but I am in luf with her and we would like some privacee."

Cue silence from Buddy. But he hasn't called since. And I just laughed my heart out, callously. Anyway. He deserved it. The funniest bit is the idea of me getting involved with Bepe, who thinks a book is something to hold the bathroom door open so you can listen to the football commentary while you're on the toilet. (I haven't witnessed this actually happening, but it seems likely.)

To celebrate, I went and got chips. After exhaustive research I have found out that Irish fish-n-chips are almost, but not quite as good as the ones back in St. John's. I still dream of chips and gravy from Ches's and I probably always will, but these are not bad and on my budget I won't be eating out in many fancy restaurants. As Bepe's girlfriend (let' s call her Fabia) pointed out, my panties aren't that small as it is, so why bother dieting?

I have investigated quite thoroughly a number of fine establishments, including a range of Italian named (WTF? Italians making chips) venues, from Borzas to Romas. I have explored the ins and outs of Burdocks. (Niente male, Bepe said). And, ladies and gentlemen of the juries, I have determined that for a combination of taste and closeness to my apartment, the winner is Beshoffs on O'Connell Street.

But you can't eat chips every night so today I am off to Moore Street Market (also a winner in the apartment-proximity stakes) for some cheap vegetables. I may not be planning on cashing my panties in for a size smaller, but I don't want to go up a size either.

That's all fer now folks!


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