PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT

Expectation and reality . . .

These words are pretty much polar opposites, in my view. Expectation, more often than not, is actually just pure fantasy; reality is the ice-cold dose of water dumped harshly over that fantasy. At least, that seems to be my experience. Then again, I do seem to be terminally unlucky.

Combined with my stupidly high levels of optimism, I therefore find myself often let down by reality . . . And yet I never learn my lesson.

Hence the reason why I'm currently crawling around in the darkness underneath Declan's bed.

"Have you found it yet, Abby?" Declan asks impatiently, from somewhere above me. It seems a useless task; the clutter underneath his bed is appalling, as if he just sweeps all his mess under there in a rush whenever he has a girl coming over.

And I'm probably not the only girl, I realise now, my tears coming faster. Oh yeah, that's the other thing that's impeding my search just a little. The fact that my vision is severely compromised at the moment, due to the excessive amounts of saltwater dripping from my eyes.

"Still looking!" I gulp back a sob and gingerly nudge a whiffy trainer out of the way, swiping at my eyes with one hand and trying to make my voice sound remotely light-hearted and reassuring. "I'm sure I'll find it in a minute."

"Can you hurry?" Panic is now starting to colour his voice. Given the circumstances, I can't really blame him.

I guess it's safe to say, though, that my positive expectations of today have most definitely been shattered.

It started with our work team lunch. I'd actually been really looking forward to that. My company always pays for it, and I'm never going to refuse a free meal. Especially as, let's face it, we all know TGI Friday is a tad overpriced. And, as I was meeting Dec for drinks that night, it meant I could load up on carbs on the cheap and line my stomach for my "bed cardio" plans for later.

My traitorous stomach was still growling appreciatively at the very thought of some loaded potato skins, even as the girl at the front desk apologetically told us they had no record of our reservation.

And that they unfortunately didn't have the space to accommodate our slightly larger party at such short notice.

Honestly, I could have cried at that point. It was up there with the time I was having a fast day while on the 5:2 diet, decided my need for a chocolate bar overrode my desire to lose a few pounds, and then discovered the vending machine was broken. I'd barely avoided a full-blown breakdown on that particular occasion.

In case it wasn't clear, I take my food very seriously.

We ended up in Wagamamas, which was nice enough, but not what I'd been expecting to eat.

Expectations 0 - Reality 1

Then, one of my colleagues had gotten into an argument with the one who had clearly forgotten to make the TGI booking. People had been "hangry," and tempers were frayed. It got loud. Customers at other tables were staring, and it was getting really embarrassing to even be in the vicinity of the scene; so I'd made my excuses, stating I had a meeting I'd forgotten about, and escaped.

I'd only managed a few forkfuls of my katsu curry before the drama kicked off, and I was still starving.

Still, I thought, walking back into the office with only a packet of Kettle crisps and a Milky Way bar to keep me going, at least I was going to see Dec in just a few hours.

Declan Breslin was my boyfriend. Of sorts.

Okay . . . I guess full disclosure is required here. He had been my boyfriend for ten months. Our dates were always great fun. We had fabulous chemistry, both in and out of the bedroom. We'd went to Ibiza together for a long weekend. Said the "L" word to each other. Even briefly - albeit drunkenly - spoken about a shared future.

And so it had came as a bit of a shock to me when, two months ago, he had gently suggested we "take a break".

"It's just . . . It's gotten a bit intense too quickly," he said softly, petting my hand gently as if I was a nervy kitten that might claw him at any minute. "I think we need to take a step back; just make sure this is what we both want."

"But this is what I want," I'd protested, blindsided. "I want to be with you."

He nodded understandingly. "I know. And I think I want to be with you too. But . . . Look, absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that; I just need to take a breather before I fully commit to anyone or anything."

I didn't understand. I couldn't understand. Surely either he wanted to be with me, or he didn't? My feelings hadn't changed; did he not love me anymore? But he somehow managed to convince me it was for the best and that if we just spent a couple of months apart, we'd be so much stronger once we reunited.

So, for the last eight weeks or so, I had been all kinds of patient. I'd always prided myself on doing everything to the best of my ability, both in my personal and professional life. Therefore, I decided to embrace this new role and play it to the hilt. I'd be the most fantastic "not-an-ex-not-quite-a-girlfriend" who had ever existed.

I practically sat on my hands to stop myself frequently texting him. Whenever the urge got too much, I'd message a friend instead to arrange a night out, and ensure I was tagged on social media having The Greatest Night Ever. I'd carefully trawl through the Internet on the hunt for The Very Best Funny Memes I could just randomly send to him, in lieu of the slightly more pointed messages I would have preferred to have sent.

You know the type of messages I mean, right?

"Are you ready to talk yet?"

"Do you actually care about me?"

"Is this break ever going to end?"

But I refused to be visibly needy. I gave him all the space he wanted. In fact, I was actually so good at pretending, Declan was actually the one who texted me more often. I reckon I had him completely fooled.

Which, in retrospect, may have actually been to my own detriment.

When he'd asked to meet for drinks tonight, "to catch up", I'd been so excited about it. This was finally it. The moment of truth. I could picture it in my head . . .

"I was wrong to think I needed space from you," he would tell me, his slate-gray coloured eyes swimming with emotion. "This has actually been the worst two months of my life." He'd grab my hands pleadingly. "Please, please, tell me your feelings haven't changed. You're my future. You're my everything."

Yes, I know I was being fairly delusional. Let's blame that pesky little optimist trapped inside me. (I can't seem to shake her. No matter how hard I try.)

But never in my wildest dreams would I have believed that, just hours later, I'd be crying under the bed with my naked - and now very much ex - boyfriend handcuffed to the headboard above.

*Insert giant facepalm emoji right here*