Old Friends and New

A few pints later and I have forgotten all about the fact that I am in my running gear (including the shoes, which are never to be worn anywhere but to the athletic event itself) and not exactly dressed for pubbing (I'd have planned a way better outfit for this!)  especially on St. Pat's (not a thread of green, and nary a shamrock to be found anywhere on me.) But I have stopped caring, stopped feeling like I stick out like a sore thumb, and have really begun to enjoy myself.

To the point where I am not at all fazed when Jan and Ken have to leave to go to dinner with relatives and suggest I stay with relative strangers. They don't feel like strangers anymore.  In fact the place feels like everyone knows my name (and they may by that point, we've been there a while).  I decide to stay and join my new friends for dinner.

I text Craig. He would so love this whole arrangement. Impromptu shenanigans, making friends of total strangers, the mini Guinness's and the traditional Irish dinner complete with bagpipes.  And to think I nearly stayed at home and cleaned the toilet today.

Not long after dinner, I've decided I have had my fill of revelry and head for home. It is just starting to get dark. I've spent an entire day in a pub.  I get home and crack open a book I've just started reading. I am committed to forming better reading habits; I got so far away from reading when I was with Scott. We were always DOING something.  I hardly ever found time to read. I should never have let that happen, although I'll admit it was lots of fun at the time.

This is probably not the most ideal set of circumstances to read under. I am asleep in under 5 minutes.

And an hour later, I am awakened by my phone dinging its familiar ding that it dings when I have a text message.

Several of them it would seem.

First one from Craig. Flirting with me.  I flirt back immediately. Smiling like a lunatic.

One from Scott. He's hoping I got home okay. 

I am baffled that he knows what I've been up to.  How did he know I wasn't home cleaning my toilet?

And then the dim little light bulb in my head shines just a wee bit brighter.

I look at my Facebook posts.  One when I join Jan at the bar.  One when I snap a cool photo of a guy in a Guinness shirt hours later.

That's how he knows.

Not that we've become friends on Facebook again. No, that has not happened and won't. Unfriending someone is a final act of war. You don't get a do-over.  And Scott famously unfriended me and Hil and Pat and almost everyone we have in common the night I changed my status to "single."  I understood his reason for doing so. He was not about to watch me live my life on Facebook in the wake of our disaster.

But I am sure he remains curious.  How hard would it be to check his kids' accounts or even ask what I've been up to.

I am annoyed at the sneakiness but don't say anything. I very soberly answer.

And resume flirting with Craig.