Elsie-Rae's got Double D's

it's not me; it's you

"It's not you, it's me," Ben said as we sat in the car together.

That was a lie. I've read enough magazine's over the years to know what the whole, "it's not you, it's me," sentence actually means — it wasn't him; it was me. It was all me. There's no doubt that this was all my fault.

Those words were not the words I'd been expecting to hear when he'd called earlier and said he'd pick me up in an hour, that he wanted to talk to me about something. Visions of a romantic meal in a nice restaurant in town, with him, down on one knee, finally taking the advice of Beyoncé and putting a ring on it had played through my head. I'd convinced myself that Ben was going to ask me to marry him. But instead, I'd found myself sitting in McDonald's car park listening to the sound of the rain on the roof of his car while he regurgitated a few clichéd lines about why we could no longer be together.

"We'll still be friends, though," he said, placing his hand on my thigh and squeezing it gently. Despite the fact the fact that he'd just said he no longer fancied me I still hoped he'd move his hand a little higher.

We couldn't and wouldn't be friends, though. I'd heard the stories and seen Cheryl after she'd had more than one drunken hookup with her ex. There was no way I could face having my heart broken over and over again.

"I'll take you home, then, if you, or you know we could go back to mine for a bit if you want?"

Go back to his place and do what exactly? Play a few games of FIFA on the Xbox, I mean, that's the kind of things friends do, isn't it? Or maybe he wanted a farewell five-minute fumble under the sheets while his mum watched Eastenders downstairs.

No, I didn't want to do that. I didn't want to go to Ben's house and be confronted by his mum. I didn't want to hang around chatting and drinking tea, and acting like everything was okay when it was far from okay. My heart was broken, and it was all thanks to him, Ben - the arsehole. But at the same time, I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of having to give me a lift home, "rely on no man," that was what Debbie had said in her advice column in the Sun.

We sat for a few minutes, the sound of my heart thumping in my chest, and the rain on the roof was a welcome distraction from the awkward silence that had descended. I couldn't stand it any longer; I decided to climb out of the car and into the torrential downpour. Yeah, so my hair would be ruined, but Gemma would understand when I told her all about Ben and the way he'd acted. And honestly, I didn't care; there was no way I could be in a confined space with him any longer than I had to.

I took great satisfaction in slamming the door of his new car; it was his pride and joy, and I can only imagine the way he would've winced as if he'd been kicked in the balls. I suppose that it was fairly obvious that Ben would turn into a 'Bloody Massive Wanker' once he started driving around in that BMW. And if it were a kick in the balls he would've preferred; then I would gladly have volunteered.

Thought I'd wake up this morning and realise that last night was some really horrible nightmare, but no, it actually happened.

Ben dumped me, in the middle of McDonald's car park of all places.

W̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶a̶ ̶b̶a̶s̶t̶a̶r̶d̶!̶

I had a lot of time for reflection on that walk home last night, because you know it was a really long walk especially in those high heels, but again it's not like I knew I was getting dumped. Maybe I should've swallowed my pride and let him drive me home, it was the least he could do. But no, there's absolutely no way I'd ever get in that car of his ever again. I could've taken the shoes off, I suppose it wouldn't be the first time I'd have to make the choice between my dignity and my shoes — usually, I made the decision to leave both of them behind, especially on a night out after one too many. But as Coco Chanel once said, "Keep your heels, head and standards high," and that is exactly what I was going to do, even if it took me all night to get home, I refused to remove my shoes and walk barefoot.

A̶n̶y̶w̶a̶y̶,̶ ̶r̶e̶f̶l̶e̶c̶t̶i̶o̶n̶ ̶-̶ m̶y̶ ̶r̶e̶f̶l̶e̶c̶t̶i̶o̶n̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶m̶o̶r̶n̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶i̶s̶ ̶d̶i̶s̶g̶u̶s̶t̶i̶n̶g̶,̶ ̶l̶a̶s̶t̶ ̶n̶i̶g̶h̶t̶'s̶ ̶m̶a̶k̶e̶-̶u̶p̶ ̶s̶m̶e̶a̶r̶e̶d̶ ̶h̶a̶l̶f̶-̶w̶a̶y̶ ̶d̶o̶w̶n̶ ̶m̶y̶ ̶f̶a̶c̶e̶ ̶a̶n̶d̶ ̶a̶ ̶h̶e̶a̶d̶ ̶f̶u̶l̶l̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶s̶c̶r̶a̶g̶g̶y̶ ̶r̶a̶t̶s̶ ̶t̶a̶i̶l̶s̶,̶ ̶n̶o̶ ̶w̶o̶n̶d̶e̶r̶ ̶h̶e̶ ̶d̶u̶m̶p̶e̶d̶ ̶m̶e̶!̶

Back to last night, I spent a lot of time thinking about Ben and that stupid car of his. He was totally besotted with it; he loved it almost as much as he loved himself. Ugh! Since he got that new job, he'd changed a lot.

That's probably what he meant by saying, "it's not you, it's me," I wasn't like his new workmates. I definitely didn't have a degree or A-levels, I've got like two GCSEs and an NVQ in hairdressing to my name.