Things were utterly glorious between The Fireman and I once we’d reconciled. We both made such an effort, communicating instead of arguing, fucking all over the house (as usual,) and actually listening instead of storming off. It was the best our relationship had been since the start. I was so damn happy. But then, there was a disastrous introduction…
To explain, we’ll need to go back in time just a few months.
Soundtrack: My Happy Ending by Avril Lavigne.
Back in Time
My parents broke up while I was in basic training, and my Pops went a little off the rails – and by a little, I mean… a lot. Guzzling red wine in the middle of the night. Never sleeping. Acting in non-Pops ways
They tried to keep the breakup a secret at first, but he told me that he was learning to use the washing machine… and my mother would never have allowed that. I called him, demanding to know the truth, and it all came out. Drunkenly. Suicidally.
It fucked me up a little. I PVR’d my way home three days away from passing in, regret and disappointment hanging like a heavy weight on my heart. I went home to look after my Pops. I mean, it’s not every day you need to come to term with the fact that your wife and mother of your child(ren) has been having a long ol’ affair, is it?
I was Team Pops all the way.
He acted up like a naughty teenager, drinking too much, stumbling home in the early hours of the morning, and TMI’ing his way through dinner. It was too much. He was so depressed but trying not to be.
One night, The Fireman suggested that we invite my Pops out for dinner and drinks with us, his mum, and one of her friends. It seemed like a good idea at the time, so invited him I did, and he said yes.
And now, we come to a disastrous introduction.
A Disastrous Introduction
Hi Fireman’s mum, this is my Pops.
Pops, this is Fireman’s mum.
I didn’t know that those two sentences would have such an impact on my life, but they did. It took a couple of weeks, but then the impact happened like a country-sized asteroid hurling down on my life.
Fireman and I had come home from a dinner date (still in the laughing phase) to a sound that we didn’t recognise.
“What is that?” I asked, looking around the bottom floor of the property, trying to locate the origin of the noise.
Fireman and I found ourselves at the bottom of the stairs, looking up, listening to…
Oh, God. It was his mother having sex.
We grabbed a couple of cans of pop from the fridge, then sat in the front garden so I could have a smoke. About half an hour later, someone came out the front door.
“Pops?” I gasped. “Tell me that you weren’t just… upstairs.”
“Umm, we didn’t realise that you two would be home yet,” he blustered.
Fuck off. Fuck off. Fuck off. Fuck off.
My Pops had shagged my boyfriend’s mum.
That was the cherry on top of everything that had happened between the Fireman and I. There was no coming back from it. Everyone, not just us, had done about as much damage as could possibly be done. We were irreversibly damaged, in more ways than one.
So, we parted ways for good. (For now.)
As did my FUCKING Pops and Fireman’s mum.
My relationship was destroyed because my damn dad needed to get his leg over.
You couldn’t make this shit up.
The next blog post in the dating timeline is this one: Number 11: Lurch (The Flat).
Thank you so much for reading my blog today! 🖤
Would you like to read all about The Fireman’s story, right from the very beginning? You’ll find that right here.
You can also read all about my disastrous dating history, right from the beginning, right here: Table of Dating Contents.
Alternatively, why not have a little peek around here:
