So I went to a colleague’s wife’s surprise birthday party today. It was really nice. I had several plates of “asun” – but that’s not why I am writing this.

The host had hinted that he had something special for me. A friend at the same party said that he hopes the host knew the two things I needed – alcohol and a lady friend. I just laughed.

Some time after we had settled down, someone mentioned that some lady that was at the party was the person the host had in mind. I took one look and shook my head.

Later on during the friendly chit-chat the issue came up again. I said I wasn’t interested. The host commented that “This is getting embarrassing” (with reference to my single status at my age). A friend whipped out his phone and displayed the picture of some lady I supposedly had met – she was really easy on the eyes. I begged to differ and said I don’t think I had actually met the lady – he insisted otherwise. I whipped out my phone and showed them several pictures of a lady – pilfered from her Whatsapp profile over time.

That was of course a mistake. Another friend at the gathering who knew about the lady then asked: “So what did she say?”

I had no option but to say: “She said no.”

To which he directed his reply to the other guys at the gathering: “I don’t know why he puts his eggs in one basket.”

Unfortunately, there is only so much room in my heart. The space is only big enough for one occupant at a time. And before the lady in the picture, there was only one other person … it now feels so long ago. And before that actually very long ago there was a third person.

I don’t know how they (the other guys) do it. All of them were married and yet most of them are able to find time and emotion for other women … admittedly just “physical” but still …. I can’t do it …. maybe it’s because I am … shy … maybe I would do the same if otherwise … but I like to think I am “different”.

I really shouldn’t be writing and putting this up in the “google-verse” (Internet)  – “she” may come across it – and I suspect it will do more harm than good, but I guess my ego needs stroking: if nothing else, I can claim to be able to “write.”