# 13 cruel to be kind

I. Am. Brilliant.

I stand proudly by the bar watching Grace attempt some rusty flirting techniques with the hotty I chatted up on her behalf. He’s all Ryan Gosling-esque with nice big arms and very white teeth; I think he said he played for Harlequins rugby too. I have no idea what that means but I supposed he wouldn’t have bothered dropping that in if it wasn’t mildly impressive. 

Anyway I watch Gracie twirling her hair, looking back at me for encouragement, and not so subtly shuffle her Santa dress to hike her boobs up; it appears to be working as rugby boy is now buying her a drink – SCORE GRACIE. 

I’m not sure why girls whine about men all the time; they’re really quite simple to analyse. They like a girl to appear classy but to be a secret slut, they like them to laugh at their jokes (openly and loudly), they like girls who are (or act) less intelligent, and they like a little game playing (but claim to hate it).
 

Men = uncomplicated
Women = complicated  

This is why relationships go to shit; girls need to stop being so damn needy and know that we’re the superior race and can outsmart any male on this planet if we put our minds to it and work together.

Like, get a grip. I hate seeing my friends so emotionally damaged by a cock on legs. One should always remain realistic and should never fully give wear your heart on your Prada sleeve; it almost always ends in heartache.
 
I blame movies.
 
I have yet to find a hooker that ended up with a rich silver fox.
 
I have yet to find an undercover reporter who fell in love with the high school teacher under a false alias.
 
I have yet to find a guy who wrote their first true love a letter every day for a year. 

Like, who thinks up this shit?
  
I may give motivational seminars on how to bag a man. I’ll use Stefan as my show-and-tell. If I had filmed today I’d be a bloody worldwide wonderwoman sensation; I’d be on Ellen DeGeneres and she’d be asking, “What’s your secret Yasmin?... Tell the world.”
 

Reason being the earlier events of today;

I’m busier than I’ve ever been working with the other fashion assistants pulling outfits and accessories for the beautiful supermodel Esme Connor, when who comes bursting into the studio but my crazy ex…
  
 His hair was wild and unwashed and he hadn’t shaved, and he also reeked to the heavens of bourbon; he looked like Homeless Werewolf Man.
 
The new interns were squealing in shock and Cheska dropped her sewing machine at the sight of him. I covered my face with my hands and muttered apologies to the team who were uncertain as to who this drunk intruder was, but like, doesn’t he kinda look like that famous model?
 

I walked up to him, looking as stern as I could in the face of a broken sobbing man, took him aside and begged him to leave.

He dropped to the floor and clung to my leg, wailing in Italian, and by this point a scene had begun to gather in front of me. My boss gave me the Look; the “get this the fuck under control asap” look. So I sighed, and dragged him upright and to the nearest exit.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I hissed at him.

“Baby, my baby, take me back. Please. I will change” he repeated this over and over; sobbing into my new Marc Jacobs shirt and gripping my waist with the urgency of Meryl Streep in Sophie’s Choice.

I removed his hands, told him to get a grip, and turned on my heel back to the studio.

 And then… oh THEN… the singing started.

“aaand you can tell everybody.. this is your SONGGG. It might sound quiteee bad but now that your gone… I hope you DON’ MIND, I HOPE YOU DON’ MIND-”

I died a thousand deaths inside as he ran back in after me, his drunken slurs echoing around the stone silent room; the girls who were originally giggling together just looked on sadly; some even closed their eyes to avoid seeing such humiliation. Elton John would have been horrified.

“THAAD I PUT DOWN IN WORRRRDS”

“STEFAN, STOP.”

I had never shouted at him before. I don’t know if I’ve actually shouted before, ever.

He stopped, and sniveled a little more, and by this point Security had been called, and I didn’t even pause to consider whether we even had Security before today, but let them lead a dejected man out slowly, whilst he mouthed lyrics to me, silently.

Yeah it didn’t feel good, but the Truth hurts sometimes. And truth is, he shouldn’t have got in so deep.

I handed the bouncer at Lenny's a print out of Stefan and warned with a grave tone that "this total nutter might turn up" and may have even eluded to him having previously rumoured to have date-raped girls from other clubs in the area.

Yes, I'm a heartless wench but I almost got a written warning today thanks to him, and I'm not even for a millisecond having a Y chromo ruining my career plans thank you very much.

Now to find a substitute boyfriend for the night.

What? ... I don't want to have to fork out £40 for a cab.