My car is getting used to this. Poor thing, whenever she is awake, all she hears from me are snorts, sighs, swearing and me muttering “I’m an idiot”. If she had to describe me, she would stress the fact that I’m a stupid, irritable, impolite little thing with evident anger management issues. I should treat her better. I even threatened to sell her a while ago, and she’s always been nice and reliable. She probably puts up with me only because I treat her better than my husband. I wish she could talk back to me, like KITT, and I could be, erm, “Monday-night Rider”? At least I wouldn’t spend the whole time repeating obsessively “I’m an idiot”.

This week’s idiot is slightly diffrent though. Last week’s was “Daniel syle”, this week’s more “First Fred style”, as much as it pains me to admit it.

First Fred (not to be mistaken for Second Fred) for all intents and purposes can be considered my first “reciprocated” love, meaning before him, I had never managed to actually touch the guys I had fallen for. He, for a change, I met in an arena, some 14 years ago. Boy, he was a hottie, older than me 5 years, spectacular six pack, semi pro snowboarder, the whole shebang. And he liked me. We started dating, and in no time I was head over feet for the guy. I was very young and stupid, pretty much as I still am, but for the young part, and I just didn’t realise it was all a game for him. All promises and sweet talk, he never cared a bit for me, I was probably just a Christmas time distraction and he dumped me cold turkey after a couple of months. As childish as this may sound, I should have known better than believing such a “perfect” guy was actually interested in me.

And there you go again. When will I ever learn men do not function like women?

Hummingbird’s first rule: if you like a confident, attractive guy, who works around women all day, never ever EVER assume you can be more than tick sign for him.