Makeup does work wonders

Don't let anyone tell you other- wise, make-up works wonders.

Don't let anyone tell you other- wise, make-up works wonders.

Ever since I made friends with this earthly intervention, things have been happening to me.

So hectic have things been that I even received a call from an ex who once warned me not to show my face in his hood ever again. And I still ask: what are stabbed tyres and burnt clothes between friends?

Back in the day he wouldn't hear it, he even blamed me for the theft of household goods, which I might or might not have set up.

Instead, when I went to explain, he pretended he wasn't home and I cried all the way to my small, cold flat. Some taxi driver said he could make me call his name if I allowed him to dry the tears from my eyes.

Now my ex tells me my crimes are water under the bridge.

Like hell they are.

An unforgiving woman would have told him to get lost, but there is a school of thought that teaches us to keep our friends close and our enemies closer.

So I agreed to the suggested date and made sure to look like, err, me in my sexy jeans with a new belt and phenomenal blouse.

I made sure to give him a sneak of the infallible cleavage. And, of course, to complete the look I had to bring out the bag of magic with one jug of foundation, a shovel of powder, four cups of blusher, one litre of lip gloss and wheelbarrow loads of mascara.

He took one look and tears filled his eyes. Sweet revenge and I was only getting started.

Unbeknown to him, there was a new woman in town. I made sure to get started on my mission the second I got there.

The waiter brought the menu and I almost rubbed my hands in anticipation. What was it to be for drinks?

Champagne didn't sound bad at all. Yes, I had the bubbly and caviar for starters against the smart-ass waiter's advice who warned about the "fluctuating" prices of the fish eggs. Who was he to judge a man by his cheap suit?

We proceeded to the main course, which was decidedly French - and expensive. I even went for dessert, something I hardly do with good guys.

After pigging out for what seemed like an eternity for him, it was time for his confessions.

"What are you going to do with my love this time?" I asked.

He was like a cat on a tin roof on a hot day. Clearly he had changed his mind. I hadn't changed one bit from the woman he last saw five years before.

But it's not true. He created the monster I had become.

I had nothing to do with his stabbed tyres or burnt clothes. It wasn't me. But because he chose to be a bastard about it, he might never know the truth.

Obviously there were many of us and he chose to point the finger at me. Fine by me. He must just leave me alone. Yes, he did, after parting with a fortune on my dinner.

What people don't understand is that relationships are fragile and so are hearts.

But the number-one machine gun against these tender affairs is removal of trust. Once trust is gone there is no restoring it.

Instead, every time the creator of problems tries to operate on the surface of problems, things can only go downhill. And in the end both partners are left hurting even more.

No, I'm not celebrating the she-devil he made out of me. I have to admit that the scene from My Super Ex-Girlfriend, where she writes "DICK" on his forehead with her super powers, is rather mouthwatering.

But in the end no one wins because each one gets so absorbed in revenge matters that the whole thing seems pointless.

Oops, gotta run. There goes my phone again. Where's that bag of make-up?