Sod's Law

En route to the Tube – en route to the gym – yesterday I bumped into A, a friend of a friend of O's I had a mini crush on three or four years ago. He lives about two minutes' walk from me but I haven't seen him in at least a year and a half.

I had on leggings and a fleece, no makeup, un-groomed (make that "hairy beast") eyebrows, and my hair in a ponytail, complete with unattractive, not-remotely-face-framing wisps. I may or may not have showered since the day before.

He looked me up and down derisively.

"You look, um," – I could almost see him weighing words, looking for one that wasn't too insulting -- "sportier each time I see you," he said. (Huh? The last time I saw him was at a Christmas party in December '08, where I was wearing a rather ugly sequinned vintage dress as part of a costume leftover from the first party of the evening.)

He said he was headed to see Jools Holland for his sister's birthday, and wondered if that were a good idea.

"I guess it depends on how much you like Jools Holland," I said. He looked like he couldn't wait to escape, and I let him.

Clearly I have become repulsive to all men. Or maybe it's just that I should shower and wear makeup.

This morning I recounted the conversation to O, who has returned from flying all the way to Singapore to cheat on a woman he's called the love of his life – and for whom he moved to Paris. (Are you thinking what I'm thinking? Yes, O's life is probably a lot more interesting to read about than mine, but I can't imagine him ever blogging.)

"I think he's just very shy and awkward," O said. "But I heard he's got a new girlfriend. Did you meet her?"

Thankfully, no.