Belfast Telegraph

'Men secretly fantasise about two women cat-fighting over them'

By Catherine Townsend

Last Friday night Amy, Victoria and I went to Camden in search of cheap shoes, but three Bloody Marys later, stumbled into a witchcraft shop. The shop owner suggested a few methods to help me get rid of "unwanted guests", and we were soon cooking up a revenge scheme to get rid of Paul's annoying friend, Antonia. I've never had a problem with any of Paul's female friends, even the ones he has slept with. After all, I'm friends with several of my ex-boyfriends and would never want him to censor me.

I have to admit that I hated this girl on sight. Not only is she an attractive ex-girlfriend, but her mannerisms are completely fake. I always trust my gut instincts, but in an effort to give her a chance, I've now hung out with her several times and been completely polite through bitchy exchanges. I told her that I had a book coming out, and she countered with, " Oh, I hear that they have a chick-lit computer program that could basically write these things for you. They are pretty formulaic, aren't they?"

I realise that I'm not Tolstoy, but this was pretty low. I looked to Paul in shock, but realised that most catty comments are like dog whistles with a frequency that only female recipients hear. Guys completely miss them. " She can be difficult," he admitted later, "but underneath all the attitude, she's really nice."

I think all men secretly fantasise about two women cat-fighting over them, which then turns into a threesome. Unfortunately for the boys, this only happens in movies.

Back at the witchcraft store, I bought a few props including a candle that was supposed to rid my life of evil. "Light it every night and visualise what you want to get rid of," she said solemnly. "But if you really want someone to go away forever, put black salt in their shoes."

"If I ruin her Manolos, she may kill me first," I laughed.

So I started lighting my candle, telling Paul cheerfully that it was for " meditation". Meanwhile, Antonia continued her non-stop late-night texting, with one even hinting that she's "not over him".

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I admit that I became obsessed. Things finally came to a head after she seated us at opposite ends of the table at her dinner party, and started giving him a shoulder massage. I was a bit drunk, and incandescent with rage, I stormed to the kitchen in search of salt. Unfortunately, she walked in as I was tipping it over her shoes. I was totally humiliated.

As Paul drove me home, he asked what had happened. "I don't want you to stop being friends with her," I told him, "I just want to think that I'm more important to you than she is."

He agreed to set boundaries with Antonia. But as he spoke, I realised that by obsessing over her, I was giving her more power. I decided to ditch the magic candle, and try again with Antonia. Maybe one day, we could even be friends. If not, I've still got that voodoo doll stashed in a cabinet.

Belfast Telegraph


From Belfast Telegraph