I Googled “how to fall out of love with someone.”

Disappointingly, the internet turned out to be no help at all, because apparently that question can only be asked when you actually are in a relationship with someone.

The suggestion is to “write a list of why things haven’t worked out.”

Well, things haven’t not worked out. Mainly because the person in question has never looked at me in that way/would never in a hundred years look at me that way.

I mean, it’s great that you can watch YouTube videos like “All you need to know about black holes in twenty-five seconds,” but what about the answers to questions that actually have an immediate impact on real life? Like: How do I fall out of love with someone????

Surely there has got to be a way, and surely I can’t be the first bloody person to be asking this question.

PS: Emma and Polly and Tristan are following each other on Instagram now.

I feel my life unraveling.

Wednesday, June 27 #DesperateTimes

Today I thought about the phrase “falling in love” again, and I finally totally get it. You fall. You trip, and boom! It’s entirely unintentional, not like a parachute jump (which is called “jump,” not “fall,” for a reason).

Apparently it doesn’t matter how clever you are, and I’m very clever, but I’m also clumsy AF, and I think I fell in love with Emma the way I often fall when I trip over my own feet.

I reckon the thing to do is to do nothing and wait until I hit the ground. Then I can deal with the impact, brush myself off, and limp away with as much dignity as humanly possible.

Like that time I tackled the shoplifter.

Thursday, June 28 #WinningNotWinning

Here’s how you don’t do it:

• Try touching them at every opportunity.
• Try making them spend time with you.
• Spend an hour deciding what to wear because their possible reaction to it is suddenly more important than you actually feeling comfortable.
• Reread Romeo and Juliet.
• Give in to mentionitis.

On a positive note, the zero-grip bowling shoes have sold, which means the score is 1–0 to me.

I was like: “Who on earth bought them?” and Kate said it was the old lady who always comes in wearing her sunglasses and immediately complains it’s too dark and that she can’t see anything.

Maybe she didn’t see they were bowling shoes.

I seriously hope she’s not going to fall over and break her ankle, because that would totally be my fault somehow.

I swear Kate watches me now when I’m with Emma.

Is there anything more embarrassing?

Emma and I moved on from the bowling shoes and the pressed flowers picture, and this week I’m going with a green, pink, and white tracksuit from the eighties, and Emma has put a moldy old Bible in the display case.

I already know it’s not a winner, because it’s not the season for Bibles.