I'm not sure about other women, but sometime I clap eyes on a man, and know I'm in trouble. Warning bells go off like klaxons, and it's too late. Like the sailor seduced by the Siren, I'm in - all in.It's happened twice in the last three years, and my instincts weren't wrong, so why did I fail to obey them? In a normal, everyday situation, if that sixth sense is triggered, I react - someone standing too close on an escalator? I make sure my bag is zipped, scammers - walk away - etc. So why not when it comes to this?

The redoubtable Mr B and I have discussed this on occasion. Let's call it the curse of pheromones. The night I began my relationship with The Liar you could cut the air with a knife. We circled each other warily, neither willing to concede, but after he kissed me, there was no going back. And he in the coming weeks, he was to pursue me relentlessly.. If I look back, would I change anything? I don't know. I don't think so. Better to have loved and lost...? Perhaps. Perhaps

A year after he has disappeared, I still miss him, with every fibre of my being, I ache and I miss and I cry. There are so many things I miss - the sound of his voice (amazingly cliched - he had me at hello); his amazing deep laugh and bemused chuckle when I did something he couldn't fathom; the way he held on so tightly to me in his sleep, and the way he chased me across the bed if I dared to move away - so much so that I'd have to get out one side and get back in the other. The way his hand rested on my hip; the 20 odd different colours of grey in his hair that span from his temple to the curls behind his ear, the way he would rarely say my name when awake, but would do so over and over in his sleep. And I wonder, did he lie about everything, did he ever really mean the things he said? Sometimes I think I imagined it all.

But it doesn't stop me trying again, and laughing at myself and the foibles - and feeling a silly twinge of hurt each day. More recently de riguer took what little was left of my bruised heart and did it all again. On our first date I was mesmerized - could barely speak and only just managed cheeky repartee that resembled a tennis match, a battle of wits back and forth..Just to explain, I'd have to say - this is one of the most physically beautiful men I've met- and intelligent, funny, talented...genuinely nice and a workaholic - as in 90 hour weeks. I spent the first date with the sirens going off in my head, and then when he dropped me off, and asked if I'd like to see him again, I melted  That first night was hilarious - we couldn't find anywhere open (Monday night). Finally we landed in a booth in a bar that wasn't serving food anymore, but handed us takeaway menus - we ordered, and some of the best Thai food I've had in Melbourne was delivered to us, in the bar, soon after. Sometimes spontaneity has it's benefits...

Or not. What is it about "Bad Boys" that captivates me?
Why do I like men who work long or strange ours, and arrive and depart in the middle of the night, are frequently unreachable or put other things ahead of me? Would I want to be the number one priority in anyone's life? I start hyperventilating at the thought. Is is just men?

I don't think so - several months ago I pretty much severed ties with the Crazy Scottsman. When he sat opposite me in the pub over a meal and whined "Why don't you call me?"
"Why don't you invite me to your house?"
"Why did you never invite me to your old place?"
"Why when you stay, do you disappear before I wake up in the morning?"
When I pointed out, that he had started out by telling me he didn't want a 'relationship' with me (which by very definition of the word, means we are having a relationship - just not one in which I call him, or invite him over) he looked hurt. His entreaties scared the crap out of me - and needless to say, once said meal was over, I went home. And didn't invite him in. And haven't returned any of his calls since. Just like a man.

Or is it? I remember the first time I was hopelessly in love with The Liar. I'd had a fairly important meeting at work in the morning, and once it was done I was free to go home early. It was raining, and early afternoon traffic up Sydney Road was a nightmare. I could have gotten out of the tram and walked faster. I missed about 5 calls from him, wondering where I was. When I finally rounded the corner of the street I was living in,and saw him get out of his car, my heart stopped. I felt dizzy. And when it started again as he shrugged within his jacket that was far too light for the weather (it's a thing about people who drive everywhere - they're never attired in anywhere near enough clothing for the outdoors in Melbourne in winter).I found it hard to breathe.

Fear flooded through me as the words "I love you" flared through my brain in flaming sans serif font. and I told myself "Don't ever let him know. He can never know".Maybe men and women aren't so different, and it's all just timing and fear?