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But back to the story at hand, which is Jeffrey, and the fact that he, as just mentioned by Courtney, was a knob head.
“That’s just not true.”
It’s absolutely true.
“Come on, Meggsy! The only reason he would go down on you was just so you could analyse how good he was at it!”
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph! Alright! Yes!” "I nod and roll my eyes, a hint of frustration creeping in, as I ask, “Do we really have to talk about my sex life when I’m trying to tell you all about my epiphany?”
While we are all engrossed dissecting my lacklustre sex life, the MC begins whipping the Friday-night crowd into a frenzy, readying them for an evening of amateur singing by Madonna and KC Lang wannabe’s. I’m nowhere near drunk enough to get through an entire evening of awful singing.
“I think I might go home and drown myself in my bath.”
“You can’t go.” Courtney yells at me over the blonde on the stage who’s belting out Bad Romance. “I’m singing tonight!”
“Fine.” I huff and turn my attention to the stage as the blonde finishes and two guys jump up and attempt a Seven of Crows song. They’re both pretty smashed, and the big guy goes totally off script and starts screaming a bunch of sexual innuendos at the crowd. They don’t last long as two burly security guards appear and frog-march them off the stage and out the door.
And then the first few bars of Heart’s Barracuda come booming through the speakers. This is Courtney’s jam and I start whooping as she runs up and grabs the microphone. She’s no Ann Wilson, but she can sing the hell out of that song. The whole room cheers loudly when she finishes. Courtney throws some kisses into the audience, and screams “rock on!” making the hand horns gesture as she passes the microphone over to a woman in a flowing, lace dress.
I turn to the table and slam down a fiver. “Stevie Nicks.”
Nate pulls his wallet from his back pocket. “Double or nothing on the name of the song.”
“I’m in. Edge of Seventeen.”
Brynn shakes her head. “Nope. It’s gotta be Gypsy.”
“Oohhh, I love that song.”
“You’re both wrong.” Courtney slides back into her chair, sips on a glass of water and clears her throat. “It’ll be Sara. It’s always Sara.”
We all turn our attention to the stage where witchy woman is twirling Stevie-style before becoming twisted in the microphone lead. The MC rushes over to help untangle her before she falls off the stage and breaks her neck. Once free, the first few bars of music play. The song is Sara, just as Courtney predicted.
“No fair.”
“Cheat.”
“Pfftt!” Courtney reaches in and grabs her winnings while we all scowl at her. “Thanks, guys.”
As witchy woman destroys the Stevie Nicks classic, Courtney turns to me. “The truth is, you jump in and out of shitty relationships with shitty people… and that’s on you.”
“I truly thought Jeffrey was the one.”
“Did you? Because no one else did. Look, you’re old enough to know that there isn’t just one ‘One’. That’s just some rubbish made up by some asshole a thousand years ago so his woman wouldn’t screw the caveman next door while he was out hunting dinosaurs.”
“You don’t truly believe that, do you?”
“I really do.”
Nate nods. “She really does.”
I mull on what my friends are saying for a millisecond. Can they be right? Not about Courtney’s ridiculous dinosaur analogy, but about missing out on the right guy because I keep dating all the wrong ones. And why do I keep dating the wrong ones? Because I think I don’t deserve to be loved?
This is a lot to unpack over a glass of scotch.
The whole idea of @megmartinissingle was pretty much a joke that was supposed to die a natural death. I’d go on some dates and have a little fun. But the truth is, I have no real intention of having a relationship with any of them, mostly because meeting the love of your life shouldn’t be forced or found on an app, it should just happen.
So here I am, sipping on a drink I hate, and ready to finally reveal to my friends my epiphany.
