To this date Mister Yellow and I have been seeing each other for six or seven weeks.
He knows some of my stories, but no real details. I just don't want to bother him with them. And it's not really my style, sharing loads of personal information, especially regarding my past, with guys I date. So this is what he knows: I've been in two shitty relationships, don't really trust guys, I love being fondled and that I date about five guys simultaneously.
Mister Yellow and I meet 3-4 times a week. We always spend the night together. That means that we meet almost every day, at least for a morning coffee before we rush to work. As I told you earlier, Mister Yellow is astonishing in bed. I feel like we have a connection. His green eyes won't look away from mine during sex. And we do it a lot. I let him do things to me that I don't usually do outside relationships and for some reason I find myself totally aroused from doing stuff that I don't usually do. I guess I'm utterly turned on by the fact that I bring him pleasure. Little miss Kitty ain't that selfish no more. Uh-oh.
Tuesday night at his bijou studio flat. We had been seeing each other for 2-3 weeks. We enjoyed a dinner that he cooked, simple yet oh-so delicious. I was lounging on the bed in my Victoria's Secret underwear, he was laying next to me with his laptop beside him, trying to get some work done. Three minutes later we were having sex, him on top of me, looking at me with his deep green eyes, saying "I'm extremely happy".
Noooooooo don't do this!
I replied: "Say what?", he answered "I'm so happy I found you. I just don't want this to end".
No comeback. I had absolutely no idea how to respond.
This is where I usually run, I don't want guys to tell me that I make them happy. I hurt people as a response to being hurt. So, I freaked out a bit. After sex, that is. I would never stop him, I just love it.
I stayed the night, but I guess I didn't sleep a bit. Wednesday at work sucked ass, zombie Kitty was way too tired to do anything productive.
I've tried to push Mister Yellow away by telling him that I date multiple guys simultaneously, but he doesn't mind. He once said that he knows that I'll come running back to him, our connection is really deep and the sex we share is amazing. Damn, he knows his shit. It's funny because it's true. I do come running back to him, even after breaking up with other people. Is Mister Yellow my rebound guy, although I swore I wouldn't do that anymore?
Mister Yellow and Mister Turquoise are the only two guys that I see regularly. Well, more than once a week, that is. I have a toothbrush and towel at Mister Yellow's place, since I visit his home almost as often as my own. I hardly ever sleep alone anymore, now that I have the chance to sleep beside a guy who just happens to be 6 ft 4 in (190 cm) tall. And smart. And muscular. And handsome in every possible way. And and and and and please kill me. I think that my sick little mind has developed some sort of crush on him. He makes shit happen, I find myself being a better girl simply by being with him. Please someone, find my Katana and chop me in symmetrical cubes.
A few weeks ago he tried to make me jealous. He left his phone on the table (not in his jacket pocket on silent as he normally does), and he'd been playing Tinder before I got to his place, because his phone just wouldn't stop plinging, buzzing and making all kinds of odd sounds. I really don't mind that he uses Tinder (I play Tinder when I'm alone, too), but the fact that he does it while I'm in the room makes me really sad. He responded to his Tinder messages while I sat on the bed, waiting for him to join me. Not cool. I asked him to stop being an asshole. He put down his phone, slid beside me in bed and kissed me all over. Apology accepted!
His behaviour was a clear response to something that happened the night before, when I had left my phone on the table (on silent) while I brushed my teeth. Mister Turquoise sent me his regular good night text with a few hearts and xo's, and Mister Yellow freaked out when he read those texts. My fault, I simply don't know how to switch the preview off, but still.
He asked me who Mister Turquoise is, I told him that he's a friend of a friend and he simply replied "Oh, that makes it all better."
Would it have been easier if I told him I found him on Tinder? Why didn't I do that? Oh, because I'm a shitty liar. My face gives me away in a nanosecond. Lying about Mister Turquoise would have been worse.
What the fuck just happened?
I went to bed, hugging a pillow. He brushed his teeth and laid down beside me, not touching me. "Good night", I said. No answer.
Ice cold.
Showing posts with label rebound guy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rebound guy. Show all posts
Saturday, 5 April 2014
Sunday, 16 March 2014
Tinder surprise
I blame it all on Tinder.
After I Whatsapped Mister Black and it was over between us (click here to read his story), I cried for about five minutes, and then I was OK. I spent the weekend with my family and friends, and someone told me to join Tinder. I did, and my iPhone hasn't stopped buzzing, peeping and ringing since.
To me, Tinder is a game just like any other silly app. I started talking to guys I found attractive, and suddenly realized that I've gained almost 700 Tinder matches. Let's say that if 90% of all the guys on Tinder are douche bags (and thinking back, I think my estimates are quite accurate) - there are still 70 guys on my iPhone worth checking out. So I started working and made a few dates.
This is a quick recap my first week on Tinder.
Monday
My first Tinder date was with Mister Yellow. I met him at a coffee shop during my lunch break. My look was beyond horrible: I had no makeup, my hair was just tied up in my neck in a tight bun, I was wearing running tights and sneakers and I guess I didn't smell that awesome either. For some reason he didn't mind. He made me laugh and I had a blast. I totally wished to meet him again, but we didn't make any arrangements.
After work I met up with Mister Purple. I wasn't really that into him and I certainly didn't like the fact that he asked me to meet him at his place for "dinner and a movie" (which seems to be Tinder code for sex), but I did find him somewhat good-looking, so I went. I guess he was OK, but waaaaay too needy for me. He wanted to watch a thriller or horror movie, just to make sure I'd stay close to him all night. Ehh. Sex with him was kind of awkward at first, because he seemed so unsure of himself, but after a few rounds (yeah, you heard me) he became OK. I guess he was a little shy at first or something. I knew that this was a one time only type of thing, but I tried to stay the night as promised. He wouldn't let me sleep, he was all over me all the time. It sort of freaked me out, so I got dressed and let myself out as he fell asleep. No need to call me again, thank you very much.
Tuesday
I had to work in the evening, so no dates. I chatted with a few guys on Tinder and made a couple of matches.
Mister Yellow texted me, saying he wanted to meet me again. There's something seriously wrong with that dude.
Wednesday
Mister Pink lives quite close to where I work. He texted me on Tuesday, asking if we should meet up (since I was just a few kilometers away). I was free on Wednesday night, so I met up with him. He was ridiculously good looking: tall, dark, mesmerizing eyes, a muscular body - the whole physical package. But there was something wrong with him though. After an hour-long discussion he blurted out that he'd separated from a reeeeally serious relationship last summer, and was still not over it. He was on Tinder because he wanted to get married and have kids real soon. He was attracted to me. No thanks.
Thursday
After work I met up with my girlfriends for a beer. We had a loooooong chat, I told them about my miserable Tinder dates. They found my stories amusing, therefore this blog got started. I had made a date for Thursday night as well. I said good-bye to my girlfriends and met Mister Beige for dinner. He was really funny and nice, but there was something missing. I could be his friend if he asked me, actually, I'd love to. I should text him.
Mister Yellow texted me again. We made plans for Saturday.
Friday
Mister Blue had been texting me for four days. We met on Friday, he took me for drinks after work. I found him attractive, he was a very, very smart guy, which I find really hot. Mister Blue is a tech student and really into space stuff. He oozes intelligence and I feel a lot smarter when I'm with him. I learn stuff from him, even when I'm a little tipsy. I spent five or six hours laughing and making him laugh (a new sensation) before going home. I hugged him goodbye and felt a weird vibe between us, he really wanted to kiss me. I sort of freaked out, ran off. I had a bus to catch.
I tried to booty call Mister Yellow (because he's such a ridiculously hot guy!) but he didn't answer me. Bummer.
Mister Blue texted me when he came home. He told me that he wasn't really into relationships, and didn't expect to find one on Tinder, but he liked me a lot and wanted to try it out.... What's wrong with these people?
Saturday & Sunday
Headache. Mister Yellow called me in the morning, telling me he'd be picking me up in an hour. He'd made some sort of special plans for the day and wanted me to wear a LBD and heels. Daaaaamn. We had a perfect date. I was sold instantly. He'd open doors for me, made sure I was happy all the time and surprised me left and right. I had a weird feeling about him, I could have fallen for him instantly. It sort of freaked me out, but not in a bad way.
Our date lasted 28 hours. He stayed the night. I experienced something awesome, another round of my-brain-splattered-on-the-walls sort of sex. I mean, it had been more than a year since my last experience. I was a bit afraid that this was it, I would never find anyone else. He made me laugh, hugged me, told me funny stories about last summer, kissed me all over. Panic.
Sunday night. Mister Blue called me, asking me to come over - dinner and a movie sort of stuff. Fuck Tinder, I really wasn't interested in sex right now. I told him that we could meet up, I'd bring the food if he'd arrange for a movie. Everything worked out just fine. I spent a few hours in his arms, he kissed my neck, smelled my hair and we watched something that I've already managed to forget. That was nice.
After my first week on Tinder I had loads of dates. I didn't really care for any others than Mister Blue and Mister Yellow. They had something that I felt I needed. Maybe I could give them something and receive something as well.
Feel the love, baby.
After I Whatsapped Mister Black and it was over between us (click here to read his story), I cried for about five minutes, and then I was OK. I spent the weekend with my family and friends, and someone told me to join Tinder. I did, and my iPhone hasn't stopped buzzing, peeping and ringing since.
To me, Tinder is a game just like any other silly app. I started talking to guys I found attractive, and suddenly realized that I've gained almost 700 Tinder matches. Let's say that if 90% of all the guys on Tinder are douche bags (and thinking back, I think my estimates are quite accurate) - there are still 70 guys on my iPhone worth checking out. So I started working and made a few dates.
This is a quick recap my first week on Tinder.
Monday
My first Tinder date was with Mister Yellow. I met him at a coffee shop during my lunch break. My look was beyond horrible: I had no makeup, my hair was just tied up in my neck in a tight bun, I was wearing running tights and sneakers and I guess I didn't smell that awesome either. For some reason he didn't mind. He made me laugh and I had a blast. I totally wished to meet him again, but we didn't make any arrangements.
After work I met up with Mister Purple. I wasn't really that into him and I certainly didn't like the fact that he asked me to meet him at his place for "dinner and a movie" (which seems to be Tinder code for sex), but I did find him somewhat good-looking, so I went. I guess he was OK, but waaaaay too needy for me. He wanted to watch a thriller or horror movie, just to make sure I'd stay close to him all night. Ehh. Sex with him was kind of awkward at first, because he seemed so unsure of himself, but after a few rounds (yeah, you heard me) he became OK. I guess he was a little shy at first or something. I knew that this was a one time only type of thing, but I tried to stay the night as promised. He wouldn't let me sleep, he was all over me all the time. It sort of freaked me out, so I got dressed and let myself out as he fell asleep. No need to call me again, thank you very much.
Tuesday
I had to work in the evening, so no dates. I chatted with a few guys on Tinder and made a couple of matches.
Mister Yellow texted me, saying he wanted to meet me again. There's something seriously wrong with that dude.
Wednesday
Mister Pink lives quite close to where I work. He texted me on Tuesday, asking if we should meet up (since I was just a few kilometers away). I was free on Wednesday night, so I met up with him. He was ridiculously good looking: tall, dark, mesmerizing eyes, a muscular body - the whole physical package. But there was something wrong with him though. After an hour-long discussion he blurted out that he'd separated from a reeeeally serious relationship last summer, and was still not over it. He was on Tinder because he wanted to get married and have kids real soon. He was attracted to me. No thanks.
Thursday
After work I met up with my girlfriends for a beer. We had a loooooong chat, I told them about my miserable Tinder dates. They found my stories amusing, therefore this blog got started. I had made a date for Thursday night as well. I said good-bye to my girlfriends and met Mister Beige for dinner. He was really funny and nice, but there was something missing. I could be his friend if he asked me, actually, I'd love to. I should text him.
Mister Yellow texted me again. We made plans for Saturday.
Friday
Mister Blue had been texting me for four days. We met on Friday, he took me for drinks after work. I found him attractive, he was a very, very smart guy, which I find really hot. Mister Blue is a tech student and really into space stuff. He oozes intelligence and I feel a lot smarter when I'm with him. I learn stuff from him, even when I'm a little tipsy. I spent five or six hours laughing and making him laugh (a new sensation) before going home. I hugged him goodbye and felt a weird vibe between us, he really wanted to kiss me. I sort of freaked out, ran off. I had a bus to catch.
I tried to booty call Mister Yellow (because he's such a ridiculously hot guy!) but he didn't answer me. Bummer.
Mister Blue texted me when he came home. He told me that he wasn't really into relationships, and didn't expect to find one on Tinder, but he liked me a lot and wanted to try it out.... What's wrong with these people?
Saturday & Sunday
Headache. Mister Yellow called me in the morning, telling me he'd be picking me up in an hour. He'd made some sort of special plans for the day and wanted me to wear a LBD and heels. Daaaaamn. We had a perfect date. I was sold instantly. He'd open doors for me, made sure I was happy all the time and surprised me left and right. I had a weird feeling about him, I could have fallen for him instantly. It sort of freaked me out, but not in a bad way.
Our date lasted 28 hours. He stayed the night. I experienced something awesome, another round of my-brain-splattered-on-the-walls sort of sex. I mean, it had been more than a year since my last experience. I was a bit afraid that this was it, I would never find anyone else. He made me laugh, hugged me, told me funny stories about last summer, kissed me all over. Panic.
Sunday night. Mister Blue called me, asking me to come over - dinner and a movie sort of stuff. Fuck Tinder, I really wasn't interested in sex right now. I told him that we could meet up, I'd bring the food if he'd arrange for a movie. Everything worked out just fine. I spent a few hours in his arms, he kissed my neck, smelled my hair and we watched something that I've already managed to forget. That was nice.
After my first week on Tinder I had loads of dates. I didn't really care for any others than Mister Blue and Mister Yellow. They had something that I felt I needed. Maybe I could give them something and receive something as well.
Feel the love, baby.
Friday, 7 March 2014
The story of Mister Black
Do you know the feeling when you really couldn't care less for someone, yet you still hang on to them?
That's the story of my life with Mister Black. He was my band-aid, my ultimate rebound guy.
Before I get properly started on my story about my life with Mister Black, let me share a few details of myself, the pretty little kitten writing this tiny blog.
I'm a normal girl in my twenties. I have a "real" job, working mostly nine to five. In my spare time I run around the neighbourhood in my hip-hugging black tights and hot pink sneakers and entertain my silly little friends. I wouldn't consider myself especially hot, but there's some weird quality in me that guys find attractive. If you know what the heck it is, let me know.
Later on you'll see that I'm a cold-hearted b*tch, but I wasn't born that way. I used to be "the girl next door".
I used to live with a guy, we'll call him Mister Grey. I stayed with him for way too many years, if you ask me. I met him when I was seventeen, moved in with him at nineteen and separated at twenty-four. If you ask me, I was a perfect, happy little housewife. I made him dinner every night, made sure that he was happy in every possible way. I never spent a night alone after my eighteenth birthday - that is, before I found myself sitting on the couch, telling him to leave our home in the foulest words possible. Weird, isn't it?
It really wasn't my decision to end the relationship, although it may sound that way at first. Mister Grey met a cute dark-haired girl at his company's Christmas party and found himself utterly unhappy with me. He made me miserable, it felt like hurting me was his only mission in life. He broke me into a thousand tiny bits and my heart was covered in bruises. I guess he wanted to push me away, to make sure that I leave him so he doesn't have to make all the hard decisions. This behaviour went on for about six or seven weeks. I lost count at the end. Before we broke up I cried every day and night, couldn't sleep and refused to eat.
After the break-up I was happy, almost delirious. I found myself smiling all the time. Wide smiles, in a Cheshire cat kind of way. It physically hurt my face to smile continuously for days. I guess I just wasn't used to feeling joyful after months of misery.
My friends were awesome. My bf took me clubbing on the first Friday of my new single life. I had never been single in a club before. It was funny, I guess I sent out a weird vibe because I had to push guys away from me. On that Friday my 14-second rule was invented. 14 seconds is generally the time that I'm alone at a club before I'm hit on by some random tall dude in a plaid button-up shirt.
On my first single Friday I did something I'd never done before. I brought a guy home. To our home. Wow, wasn't that odd. I won't even give that random guy his own colour, since I really don't give a damn about him, I don't even remember his name. He was from another town, a few hundred miles away. He fell in love with me instantly. I felt validated, some guy actually liked me for who I was, wanted to touch me and went through all kinds of trouble to pleasure me. Sex with him was awesome. My-brain-splattered-on-the-walls-awesome. I stuck around for a good four or five weeks. It was just another regular Thursday, he called me after work and wanted to tell me something. He told me that he was in love with me, and I freaked out. I broke up with him on the phone, because I couldn't care less to meet him. I told myself that he wasn't the right guy for me, because he never trained legs and it pissed me off.
That's where Mister Black stepped in. He was my Facebook friend, I met him when I was sixteen or seventeen. At sixteen or seventeen, I dated him a few times, until I found out that he slept with tens of chicks. I wasn't that into competing for his attention, so I simply quit seeing him. Somehow he remained in the far-left corner of my mind, I wouldn't delete him from my Facebook friends although I didn't see him for years. It was a Monday night, I had the worst cold ever, and wrote a Facebook post basically saying "I'm sick. Please someone entertain me, bring me food and I'll make it worth your while" and you know who answered - Mister Black, of course. He was funny, he felt like an adventure. I Whatsapped him for a good few days before actually meeting him. When I met him my heart caught fire. I just knew it, this was the guy I should be with, like, forever, or something. I had been single for five weeks when I went for a coffee with him. I met him almost every day, spent every waking moment looking at my phone, wishing he'd send me a message. A good five or six months later I changed my Facebook relationship status from "single" to "in a relationship" - and made it official. I experienced all sorts of stuff with him, we spent four weeks together roadtripping in the summer. Hands down, happiest time of my life.
Basically he was a good friend, but a lousy boyfriend. He couldn't handle money at all. In fact, he still owes me about £1000. He promised me stuff he couldn't keep and I ran to other men, asking for help. That made him ridiculously jealous and I seriously wanted to yell at him. But I didn't, I just turned cold and ignorant. He could spend a weekend without even texting me, even though we'd made plans to do something together. Every time he promised to do be with me, I made other plans "just in case", because I couldn't trust him one bit. I still feel that way about certain guys. I just don't trust them at all.
I dated him for 13 months. Way, way too long. Turns out he cheated on me on every possible occasion. I found that out when I went to his place to collect my stuff after arguing for a few hours on the phone. I stood there, emptying my drawer and packing my bags. I gave him an iPad for Christmas and had trouble deciding whether to take it or leave it, when his roommate suggested that I read his Facebook messages... I guess he wanted me to know something I should have seen coming for a while. I'm a kind of a daredevil, I read the messages and saw how things were. It's really funny how some things don't even surprise you. That's when I learned something about myself: I didn't really care for him. I wasn't hurt that he was somewhere fucking other girls (even though he still denies it), I was stone cold inside. I shrugged, packed my bags, said bye to Mister Black's roommate and disappeared. We broke up on Whatsapp. I didn't even call him.
The good thing with Mister Black was that he helped me get over Mister Grey. Mister Grey used to call me up on the phone, whining, asking me to get together with him.. I guess life with the black-haired chick didn't work out as planned. Too bad.
Mister Grey and Mister Black are still a part of my life, although I hate it. Mister Grey still owns half of the flat I call home, and Mister Black owes me a serious amount of money. And he has my kettle. I seriously want it back. I Whatsapped him about it today, and somehow he'd "forgotten" about it. Someone, please find him and punch him in the throat.
That's the story of my former life.
That's the story of my life with Mister Black. He was my band-aid, my ultimate rebound guy.
Before I get properly started on my story about my life with Mister Black, let me share a few details of myself, the pretty little kitten writing this tiny blog.
I'm a normal girl in my twenties. I have a "real" job, working mostly nine to five. In my spare time I run around the neighbourhood in my hip-hugging black tights and hot pink sneakers and entertain my silly little friends. I wouldn't consider myself especially hot, but there's some weird quality in me that guys find attractive. If you know what the heck it is, let me know.
Later on you'll see that I'm a cold-hearted b*tch, but I wasn't born that way. I used to be "the girl next door".
I used to live with a guy, we'll call him Mister Grey. I stayed with him for way too many years, if you ask me. I met him when I was seventeen, moved in with him at nineteen and separated at twenty-four. If you ask me, I was a perfect, happy little housewife. I made him dinner every night, made sure that he was happy in every possible way. I never spent a night alone after my eighteenth birthday - that is, before I found myself sitting on the couch, telling him to leave our home in the foulest words possible. Weird, isn't it?
It really wasn't my decision to end the relationship, although it may sound that way at first. Mister Grey met a cute dark-haired girl at his company's Christmas party and found himself utterly unhappy with me. He made me miserable, it felt like hurting me was his only mission in life. He broke me into a thousand tiny bits and my heart was covered in bruises. I guess he wanted to push me away, to make sure that I leave him so he doesn't have to make all the hard decisions. This behaviour went on for about six or seven weeks. I lost count at the end. Before we broke up I cried every day and night, couldn't sleep and refused to eat.
After the break-up I was happy, almost delirious. I found myself smiling all the time. Wide smiles, in a Cheshire cat kind of way. It physically hurt my face to smile continuously for days. I guess I just wasn't used to feeling joyful after months of misery.
My friends were awesome. My bf took me clubbing on the first Friday of my new single life. I had never been single in a club before. It was funny, I guess I sent out a weird vibe because I had to push guys away from me. On that Friday my 14-second rule was invented. 14 seconds is generally the time that I'm alone at a club before I'm hit on by some random tall dude in a plaid button-up shirt.
On my first single Friday I did something I'd never done before. I brought a guy home. To our home. Wow, wasn't that odd. I won't even give that random guy his own colour, since I really don't give a damn about him, I don't even remember his name. He was from another town, a few hundred miles away. He fell in love with me instantly. I felt validated, some guy actually liked me for who I was, wanted to touch me and went through all kinds of trouble to pleasure me. Sex with him was awesome. My-brain-splattered-on-the-walls-awesome. I stuck around for a good four or five weeks. It was just another regular Thursday, he called me after work and wanted to tell me something. He told me that he was in love with me, and I freaked out. I broke up with him on the phone, because I couldn't care less to meet him. I told myself that he wasn't the right guy for me, because he never trained legs and it pissed me off.
That's where Mister Black stepped in. He was my Facebook friend, I met him when I was sixteen or seventeen. At sixteen or seventeen, I dated him a few times, until I found out that he slept with tens of chicks. I wasn't that into competing for his attention, so I simply quit seeing him. Somehow he remained in the far-left corner of my mind, I wouldn't delete him from my Facebook friends although I didn't see him for years. It was a Monday night, I had the worst cold ever, and wrote a Facebook post basically saying "I'm sick. Please someone entertain me, bring me food and I'll make it worth your while" and you know who answered - Mister Black, of course. He was funny, he felt like an adventure. I Whatsapped him for a good few days before actually meeting him. When I met him my heart caught fire. I just knew it, this was the guy I should be with, like, forever, or something. I had been single for five weeks when I went for a coffee with him. I met him almost every day, spent every waking moment looking at my phone, wishing he'd send me a message. A good five or six months later I changed my Facebook relationship status from "single" to "in a relationship" - and made it official. I experienced all sorts of stuff with him, we spent four weeks together roadtripping in the summer. Hands down, happiest time of my life.
Basically he was a good friend, but a lousy boyfriend. He couldn't handle money at all. In fact, he still owes me about £1000. He promised me stuff he couldn't keep and I ran to other men, asking for help. That made him ridiculously jealous and I seriously wanted to yell at him. But I didn't, I just turned cold and ignorant. He could spend a weekend without even texting me, even though we'd made plans to do something together. Every time he promised to do be with me, I made other plans "just in case", because I couldn't trust him one bit. I still feel that way about certain guys. I just don't trust them at all.
I dated him for 13 months. Way, way too long. Turns out he cheated on me on every possible occasion. I found that out when I went to his place to collect my stuff after arguing for a few hours on the phone. I stood there, emptying my drawer and packing my bags. I gave him an iPad for Christmas and had trouble deciding whether to take it or leave it, when his roommate suggested that I read his Facebook messages... I guess he wanted me to know something I should have seen coming for a while. I'm a kind of a daredevil, I read the messages and saw how things were. It's really funny how some things don't even surprise you. That's when I learned something about myself: I didn't really care for him. I wasn't hurt that he was somewhere fucking other girls (even though he still denies it), I was stone cold inside. I shrugged, packed my bags, said bye to Mister Black's roommate and disappeared. We broke up on Whatsapp. I didn't even call him.
The good thing with Mister Black was that he helped me get over Mister Grey. Mister Grey used to call me up on the phone, whining, asking me to get together with him.. I guess life with the black-haired chick didn't work out as planned. Too bad.
Mister Grey and Mister Black are still a part of my life, although I hate it. Mister Grey still owns half of the flat I call home, and Mister Black owes me a serious amount of money. And he has my kettle. I seriously want it back. I Whatsapped him about it today, and somehow he'd "forgotten" about it. Someone, please find him and punch him in the throat.
That's the story of my former life.
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