The Delivery Boy

PART THREE: Ex-Boyfriends, Red Cups & Peri-Peri Chicken

PART THREE: Ex-Boyfriends, Red Cups & Peri-Peri Chicken;

Am I the only the girl that seems to enjoy wearing guys’ clothes more than wearing tight shirts, short skirts and flowing dresses? Surely, I can’t be. If anything, statistics would say we [girls] tend to be more comfortable in sweats and pyjamas, which are basically big, baggy garments. Ergo a majority of us must enjoy having ourselves clad in guys’ clothes. For example, the boxers I wore last night at the sleepover belonged to my ex-boyfriend, and I was so goddamn comfortable in them I even met Colby, my love, in them. Also, take the Manchester United sweatshirt I wore to the last party before finals began, which also coincided with Oliver’s birthday. I find it far more content with wearing guys’ attires rather than the girly shit people expect us to wear.

   Yeah, I guess it was quite something that I had met my current boyfriend wearing my previous boyfriend’s underwear. It wasn’t my fault I found male’s clothing more to my taste as opposed to my own gender. Of course, I did tell Colby about the origins of the boxers, as he had asked me during our exchange of 20 Questions (although, for him, it was 19 Questions). He didn’t seem fazed about it. In fact, at exactly thirteen past one in the morning, he said and I quote, “I’m not surprised some other guy has gotten into your pants, and vice versa. I mean – with your beauty, your amazing personality, and just yourself as a whole, Anja – you could have any guy you wanted. I just hope, perhaps in the near future, I’ll be seeing you walking around in a pair of my own. Or I could wear one of your panties, whatever floats your boat.”

   His ease with words always astonished me. I cannot even begin to describe how he made me feel with just the flick of his tongue and a mouthful of his expansive collection of terminologies.

   What I can describe, however, was that Saturday night at the party, and the feel of wearing something with Manchester United embroidered on it. I’ll tell you how it felt: like poison, but at the same time, heavenly, because it belonged to him. I remember him smirking as I emerged from his bathroom wearing the horrid piece of clothing. That Saturday evening, before the party, Colby treated me to a dinner at a restaurant of my choice. How gentlemen-y of him. Anyway, after smearing bright red lipstick onto my lips and bidding a goodnight to Matt, we took a cab out towards Oliver’s way.

   In the centre of Oliver’s suburb, near all the smaller offices and businesses, there’s a cluster of fast-food franchises to serve the local business people a closer lunch, rather than venturing deep into the city. I’m sort of in love with Oliver’s neighbourhood, I mean, it’s full of young people, and the houses are all nice and homely, but mostly because there’s a Nando’s here. We pulled into the Nando’s parking lot at about five minutes to nine, a place all too familiar to me as the people working the night shift just happened to some acquaintances of mine. I guess I should’ve felt a little awkward that one of the few workers was my ex-boyfriend Joshua, the owner of the infamous boxers I wore Friday night. Colby seemed to notice the slight, barely noticeable tension between the two of us, but I didn’t really feel anything bitter or off about being with my current boyfriend whilst talking to my ex-boyfriend. Joshua and I may have not ended so well, but we coped.

   “Hey, look who it is!” Joshua bellowed from behind the counter as we entered the not-so empty restaurant. His blonde curls were swept to one side of his face, like they always had been. His grey eyes searched the boy next to me, mentally judging him. “And who might this be?” he questioned as we approached him.

   “Don’t act like you don’t know, I know Macy told everyone,” I said, a smile encroaching my features.

   Joshua laughed. “Lucky bastard, I’m Anja’s ex, Joshua,” he introduced himself to Colby. Colby smiled and nodded, feeling the awkwardness.