The trouble with Bermuda

I believe that Bermuda is very beautiful place. Ian Fleming, creator and author of the James Bond books lived there and (I stand to be corrected) couldn’t help but set some of his books on this island. Bermuda of course is the natural habitat for intrigue, espionage and above all…passion! And since our dear James is such a hit with the ladies, passion is high on his priority list. Which brings me to the trouble with Bermuda...

I know this girl. Let’s call her Miss Girl. She’s pretty, intelligent and fun. She meets this guy. Let’s call him Mr. Guy. They start to hang out. He invites her to stuff. She invites him to dinner with friends. He texts her. She starts to pick up his vibe, if you know what I mean. Wink. Wink. She thinks that surely after all this texting and inviting out. I mean surely he MUST like her. After a few months of this more than-friends-but-less-than-dating, suddenly she just never hears from Mr. Guy anymore. No beep of the mobile. No invitation to drinks. And she wonders what went wrong? Well, the turquoise bag knows what went wrong. This “pseudo-friendship-relationship” ended up in a mysterious, dangerous place, I like to call "The Bermuda Triangle". And my dear, blog readers, make no mistake: NOTHING good ever comes from people hanging out in the Triangle.

The Turquoise Bag has sat through many a counseling session listening to girl after girl sobbing her heart out. Invariably each girl vehemently denies that she is lost in The Bermuda Triangle. “Not me” says she. And on she whimpers about how she believes that surely her Mr. Guy must be different and that he actually does like her, he just hasn’t plucked up the courage to say anything. The turquoise bag hands out tissues and then very gently breaks the news that any guy who likes any girl will say something or make some great show of his affection. (TTH doesn’t make a big deal about the major show of affection. Otherwise Miss Girl leaves the conversation looking for even the slightest sign that Mr. Guy is going to make a grand show of his undying love. You know, like smiling at her at the petrol station.)

Anyway, eventually after a few Mochachino’s, Miss Girl finally realizes that Mr Guy just isn’t that into her. (TTH gives her a copy of the DVD with the same name, a bar of Lindt and a box of Kleenex) But then she starts to ask, “Why?” “What did I do wrong?” “Am I not pretty enough?” “Am I too boring?” And well, maybe in some ways Mr Guy may well answer yes to one of those questions. But generally Miss Girl immediately looks in the wrong place for answers. The trouble is really Bermuda, you see. The second girls and guys head towards this undefined vacuum of friendship, hearts are lost at sea. More than that though, this Bermuda place isn’t much of a problem for Mr Guy. Nope, he’s having fun - chilling on the beach, getting a tan, drinking a brewski, eating a steak and enjoying the lovely Miss Girl’s company. All this while he’s checking out the rest of the talent on the beach. Miss Girl is just a fun person who he averts loneliness with – she’s available. (Bermuda isn’t much fun alone). Then one day, Miss-next-flavour-of-the-week-girl comes along. She’s new and interesting and also…very available. Mr Guy drops Miss Girl like a hot potato and she’s left sailing the seven blue seas of despair.

Mr Guy of course thinks he has done nothing wrong. After all, “We are just friends”. And happily he runs off with the latest Miss Girl and gives her a try for awhile. Texting, inviting, dinnering – you know the whole bang shoot. It’s all the fun and passion without any definition to the relationship. Miss Girl (like the well trained woman that she is) doesn’t ask any questions about what sort of scenario they’ve got going. After all, it’s Mr Guy’s role to make the first move! But soon the ecstasy of a dinner date here and a drinks date there starts to wear off and the confusion of this undefined relationship starts to weigh more and more on her. Very soon she’s at a coffee shop near you pouring out her soul to a handbag. Telling her of her feelings and despair at his taking so long to finally tell her what she already knows: Mr Guy loves her, surely he must! Cautiously, The Tuquoise Bag breaks the news to her, “Sounds like you’re in the Bermuda Triangle. It’s time to make him walk the plank. Vote him off the island. Tell him to hop off a tall building. ‘Cause unless he’s James Bond himself, it just isn’t worth it.”