A very unhealthy addiction

Restraint has never been one of my virtues. I’d love to be one of those people who can have just one biscuit, one dainty slice of cake, a small glass of wine – but if I taste something I like, and particularly something I know I shouldn’t have, I can’t get enough of it.

I think I’ve always been that way. My dad’s favourite anecdote features me as a toddler hiding under the buffet table at my grandparents’ ruby wedding anniversary. Rather than mingle with my rambunctious relatives, I hid there all evening, sticking out my hand from under the tablecloth every few minutes to pilfer another jam tart or volauvent. They tried to tempt me out with the birdy song, the hokey kokey, even a tumbler of coke (which was a forbidden nectar as far as my mum was concerned) but I just sat there happily munching on treat after treat, ignoring the tummy ache that was fast developing, and muttering ‘leave me be’ while tugging the tablecloth back into place every time I was disturbed.

Dad likes to break this gem out every time I’m proffered the plate of biscuits round my gran’s house and though it’s a wonder I’ve not developed an eating disorder, the tale does do a pretty good job at summing up my appetite for things which aren’t good for me. It’s just that these days those things tend to come in skinny jeans and leather jackets rather than pastry cases.
So when my friend Debs asked me what I was giving up for lent this year, I reminded her of what I’d already given up: “Isn’t sex enough? Bread, chocolate and alcohol are my only guilty pleasures these days, I’m not sacrificing them as well.”

“Fair enough,” she laughed, “how’s the vow going anyway?”

“Great,” I assured her. And I meant it – since January, I’d become a beacon of virginity. No man had crossed the threshold of my bedroom and I’d even managed to break my nasty habit of giving in to late night booty calls from Chris, sending him the following response upon his last attempt: I AM NEVER GOING TO SLEEP WITH YOU AGAIN. STOP CONTACTING ME. I decided firm and clear was the best way to go.

I’ll admit this watershed moment was accompanied by a few tears on my part. I might have finally realised the boy was no good but there were still a flicker of hope that he might one day prove me wrong. But I was resolute - there would be no going back this time. I deserved someone who’d treat me well, who’d take me out and be nice to me…not just send me filthy text messages. And just a few weeks later, I met someone who seemed to fit the bill.

Bruno was polite, funny, attentive, complimentary, mature, self-deprecating not to mention frickin’ hot. And then there was all the ‘on paper’ stuff too, you know the things that aren’t really supposed to matter but really do ie. age (28), job (physio), living situation (home-owner/local), hobbies (boxing, guitar), nationality (Irish – a fellow Celt!). He was an instant hit with my friends and bizarrely seemed completely smitten with me.

I’m hoping all of this will go some way to explaining why I found myself waking up beside him one very hungover Sunday morning. In my defence, I’d really tried to resist his advances but with the girls singing his praises in one ear and him saying all the right things in the other, I was fighting a losing battle - my willpower gave way and my newfound restraint went out the window.

Lying awake as he slept contentedly next to me, I knew I’d made a mistake. And not because he was just another player, on the contrary, he seemed quite the opposite, he’d already made me promise I’d go to dinner with him the following week and he certainly didn’t appear to be in any rush to leave. No, I’d made a mistake because I wasn’t ready for this – and the mess inside my head was testament to that: Where was my phone? Maybe Chris had texted. If I was going to go out and sleep with someone, surely I should just do it with him? Why couldn’t it be him that was here? Him asking to take me out?

Yep, I’d gone straight back to insanity. And to make matters worse, when I did eventually sneak out of bed to search out my phone, his name was right there on the screen waiting for me – he’d texted at the precise moment I’d been giving in to Bruno.

Clutching my phone to my chest, I walked back through to my room, climbed into bed and pulled the covers over my head, muttering “Leave me be” and wriggling out of Bruno’s reach when he stirred. I knew then that I wouldn’t meet him for dinner as we’d planned. I wasn’t ready to give up my unhealthy addiction to Chris yet. I’m still underneath that buffet table stuffing my face with things I know I shouldn’t.