The Winter of My Discontent

I think everyone says goodbye differently. Some cry and hug and wave tearful farewells, have to be parted from their loved one with a crowbar and placated with promises of wine, chocolate and bottomless boxes of Kleenex. Others are nonchalant, upper lip stiffer than an army salute - I actually know one chap who woke up one morning, breakfasted, and uttered to his bewildered girlfriend the immortal words, "So long darling. I'm off to war" before flying out to Afghanistan that afternoon. As for us, we did it in the hall way, beside the empty regimental colours case in the then empty Mess.  Big kiss, no tears, no fuss.  He left.  I rescued a tiny frog from the hallway and ate my weight in pie at a friend's house. 

That was, I'm starting to discover, the easy bit.  Eventually I had to leave the friend's house.  There were no more suppers.  No more exciting ceremonial events to go to with friends. They all went back to work. 

Eventually I ran out of pie. 

And then it started.  When I least expected it.  I was sat on the sofa, idly channel hopping as every unemployed person worth their salt tends to, and suddenly every channel is airing films like 'K19: The Widow Maker', 'Only The Good Die Young' and 'Full Metal Jacket'.  The world is conspiring against me.  It's an omen.  I decide to distract myself, do a little housework, listen to a little music.  Magic FM is playing 'All By Myself'.  Quick! Where's the iPod?!  Echo and the Bunny Men's 'Killing Moon'?  Are you kidding me?!  And just when I think it couldn't get any worse, there's an old friend telling me via the medium of Facebook that she knows *just* how I feel, because her boyfriend has just left on his second two-week business trip this year.  I resist the urge to question the current level of Taliban activity in Luxembourg and tell her instead that he'll be back in no time.  Lucky cow. 

I ask the dashing 2nd Lieutenant (this will read so much better when he's promoted in a couple of months) on MSN today whether or not he's missing me yet.  He replies "Nope", and then quickly adds "You know I do". [smiley face].  But it was an honest question.  After all, men work differently.  They're more practical.  The male mind will reason that we've only been parted 5 days and we've been in touch almost every one of those, that we've done far longer with far less.  The female mind just sees 6 months of separation and a lot of chocolate.  He reasons in my case that it should be a very happy six months then.  True.  God, if only I hadn't promised myself I'd lose weight.  All I've got is 6 months and carrot sticks.