Ok, what do I need to tell you? My name is Cherry Mead, I was thrown off of Blogger.cum, I mean .com, because I was too rude and I clicked my own ads. I have an older, very charismatic (and technically married) boyfriend and a rockstar for a best friend. I live in London, I like sex, I hate women (unless it’s one of my boyfriend’s annual birthday threesomes in which case I’ll pretend to like them) and I like to bitch about people and generally be indescreet.
Can you handle that? Great – well we may as well get started and I’m sure you’ll pick it up as we go along.
So I fell out with the rock star the other day and, since then, he’s been leaving messages on my voicemail saying that he can’t get a hard on because he’s stressed and his girlfriend (the model) is starting to get stroppy. The way I see it she was always stroppy…
Anyway, they walked past a jewellers the other day and she pulled him to the window and announced that she wants a ring for Christmas. He doesn’t know if it’s her way of saying she wants a proposal for Christmas or if she does, genuinely, want a ring. Of course it’s the former. I know this because I want a ring too. Mr D (boyfriend) has clearly already ‘rung’ another, but that’s ok because there are 4 main stages to wanting a ring from a man and I’m only at level 2.
Let’s recap;
Level 1. They earn more than the national debt of a small country (he does) and therefore he’s likely to get you a diamond that you can sell when it’s all over and use the cash to buy a small flat in Kensington. Plus it’ll sparkle and the women in posh shops will be more polite when they serve you – oh and you can wear a tracksuit and they won’t asssume you’re there to shoplift.
Level 2. You do actually love them and you have no way of showing people that you’re part of a couple – a ring does that. Especially if engraved with the words “You are mine” It says to other men “Sorry, someone better looking than you, cleverer than you and with a bigger cock than you, beat you to it and bagged me already” It’s a ‘fuck you’ to the bloke who chats you up at the party or tries to talk to you in the supermarket queue. Actually I would never queue for anything. Or go to a supermaket come to that, but I want to appear normal until you start to like me.
Level 3. You want to pretend to be engaged/married. Shortly after you have the ring you’ll start to practice his surname after yours with a hyphen. You’ll start to call him “my hubby” in the misguided and slightly sinister belief that it could just be a pet name and not an abbreviation of husband. You’ll wear the ring on your wedding finger (at this point I retract my Level 2 and place myself at Level 2.5) and you’ll start to fantasise about picking up his socks and cooking for him (ok, I’m back to Level 2 again)
Level 4. He uses a condom and you wait until he’s asleep and then try and soak his sperm up with a cotton bud before balancing on one foot with the other up on the edge of the bath while trying to find your cervix. You still pick his socks up, but you keep one for your shrine – it’ll look great next to the clippings of pubes you cut off while he was sleeping and the wax effigy of his cock. You need the ring so the psychic voodoo witch you’re paying can use it to summon the love spell you’re going to need in order to make sure this one doesn’t get away.
I’m thinking the model is at Level 3 with some cock effigy tendencies.
The thing is I’m still pissed with the rock star and not in the mood for sorting out his petty problems, so I sent a text:
I’m pissed with you. You can be such a wanker! Just buy her a bloody ring – it’s just jewellery ffs.
And so I have my revenge. I’ve sent the rock star off into the snake pit that is buying a ring for a woman with the belief that he can’t go wrong and the whole of the rest of his relationship doesn’t depend on him getting the right ring. Ha! That’ll teach him to piss me off.
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