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The Tales of Mr. Bingley Part 2

A very special day arrived. Sports ball, a tradition all over the UK for people in a varsity team. What happens is basically that everyone dresses up real good; dresses and suits and do what sport teams do best: get drunk. I arrived very late to pre-drinks as I was doing a project for my course. Yes I do actually also study aside from all the awkard stuff. The boys and girls had gathered at Pia’s house. I wore my prettiest dress, a white one with flowers. Upon arrival I immediately understood that everyone was already very tipsy and I felt quite uncomfortable being stone cold sober in between all the idiocy and laughter, thus I spent most of the pres inside Pia’s house, with her housemates, who had no idea what was happening either. It wasn’t until I stood at the pavement in front of the house, waiting for Liz to head down to the venue where the ball was held, when Mr Bingley (after months of radio silence) walked up to me and asked me how I were.

We walked up the road together, completely lost in conversation I totally forgot that I was supposed to take a taxi with Liz. I pretty much spoke with Mr. Bingley the whole way to the venue, god knows about what, this is where my memory starts to fail me. Once inside the venue I had apparently caught up with the drunkness and don’t remember much of the ceremony apart from the fact that I was seated next to one of the boys who kept showing me pictures of him a couple of years ago and kept asking me if I thought he was fit back then.

At one point I decided to sneak out and go for a cigarette. I’d like you guys to know that I am not an actual smoker but what they call a ‘social smoker’ and a ‘stress smoker’. I’m not quite sure which one it was at this moment as I was equally as stressed as ‘social’. Once I got out I was joined by an unknown handsome young men who begun a conversation with me about politics. It was quite refreshing and we shared a lot of opinions. Then he asked me what team I was in and where I was from, somehow my answers added up to something that made him smile. “Do you know Mr. Bingley?” He asked. Yes, yes I knew him and that was my cue to rush back inside.

Once inside Mr Bingley asked me to come outside, because we had to talk about things. When we were outside he kept apologizing about something that I was not aware of (and still not to this day). And what happened next is just as confusing for you as it was for me because I literally don’t remember it well enough, but somehow we got into a massive argument which lead to me storming away, furiously and him running after me. I’d like to imagine that it must’ve looked like a dramatic scene from a romantic movie, but it probably didn’t as I was very drunk at this point and wearing heels.. not an ideal combination. The chaos amplified when Tiger suddenly pulled up in a taxi and got out, suspicious of Mr. Bingley as he thought Mr Bingley was bothering me. Somehow I got both Tiger and Mr Bingley in a taxi towards the next venue where the after party was held, but as soon as we got there Mr Bingley and I had another fight, which resulted in me running after him and then giving up.

I wish I could be more precise but, the fact is that no one remembers it well enough for this situation to make any sense. It was at this point when the young Politics man from earlier showed up again and told me to leave it. He then suggested to leave the afterparty as well, for the queue would take a million years and to just have an after party at his place. Yes, when I retell the story like this I feel like that didn’t sound like a good idea AT ALL, but at that time it did. So we took a cab back to his place, which seemed awfully familiar. It was Mr Bingleys house. Yes, Mr. Politics was Mr Bingleys housemate. Brilliant. But no one was there so Mr Politics and I continued our conversation until we got a serious craving for a cigarette, but neither one of us had some, so we decided to call another cab and buy a pack. And just as we got into the cab, we passed a very raggedy and shirtless Mr Bingley.

In the cab Mr Politics started to proclaim how I was making it very difficult for him not to cheat on his girlfriend which caused me to move as far away from him as the cab would allow me. When we returned to the house with cigarettes another car pulled up and girl got out, screaming and yelling at us. Or at Mr Politics rather. I understood that this was the girlfriend he had mentioned before, thus I sneaked off and went into the house. There I found Mr Bingley and his other housemates who were all very surprised to see me. Apparently the fight outside between Mr Politics and his lady became worse, as the police was called by the neighbours at one point, but at that point I had passed out on Mr Bingleys couch.

The next morning it became clear that both Mr Bingley and Mr Politics’ girlfriend thought that we had taken the cab back to my place to do.. well.. stuff, but this wasn’t the case at all. Mr Bingley had apparently become furious and somehow lost most of his expensive suit. He dropped me off at home that morning and that’s how we started texting again.

The texting lasted till the end of the year, but over summer both of us were too busy and I believe both of us were too proud to continue texting after the summer. So that was the last we heard of Mr Bingley.

Stay golden my little ponyboys and stay strong my fellow awkward-turtles out there,

Yours truly, Maple.

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awkward, dating, diary, personal

Renaming Mr. Bingley

Nope. I was not “very polite” nor “clear about the fact that I want no role in this whatsoever”. Of course I wasn’t. No, instead I chose to confront him on the next night out, dressed in an elf outfit. If you have no idea how hard it is to keep your dignity whilst wearing an elf costume, let me tell you; near to impossible. Anyway, Mr. Bingley assured me of the fact that he did have a girlfriend, however broke up with a couple of months ago. This helped me getting to the conclusion that he did have a girlfriend the first time we kissed, but seeing as it was the same for me I was not in the position to judge.

So he went home with me that night. What can I say? I am ashamed and disappointed in myself, but a drunk heart does what a drunk heart wants. Nothing happened, again. We kissed briefly and passed out, which seems to be our signature move. I am not complaining however.

Now comes the most awkward part. I amused my friends till the point of tears in their eyes when telling, or rather acting out, this part of the story. So imagine me, half dressed in an elf-costume, half in PJ’s. Then on to him, wearing some weird-ass costume as well. Then back to me, awkwardly making clear that I have a lot of work to do. Back to him, understanding and possibly quite relieved to have an excuse to leave my house. Then back to me, realizing he doesn’t have money for a cab and is wearing tights, feeling sorry for him and offering him money for his cab. Back to him, feeling quite demasculinized by having to ask for money but accepting my offer anyway. Then back to me, taking a tenner out of my wallet, having a brief yet essential moment of brain failure, throwing the money onto the bed. As the money is hovering in the air, I realized what I just had done. I had thrown money at him. I had just thrown money at him after he spent the night at my place, wearing tights. What was I thinking? Did I believe that I had to act thug for living the thug life?

Thus, there you have it. Him awkwardly grabbing the note from my bed, me screaming frantically inside my head. I don’t have words for it really, apart from the fact that I am an utter and complete idiot. Nevertheless I have decided to rename Mr. Bingley for this would NEVER EVER EVER have happened in Pride and Prejudice and Jane Austen would quite possibly turn around in her grave if she found out that I used the name of her beloved Mr. Bingley for a lad that I throw my money at.

All suggestions are welcome.

Stay golden my little ponyboys and stay strong my fellow awkward-turtles out there,

Yours truly, Maple.

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