I’ve written two posts about Mr. Redcoat:
Mr. Redcoat: ‘Twas 13 Nights Before Christmas
In response to the second post, Mr. Redcoat decided he wanted to issue a rebuttal. Here’s his piece:
Mr Redcoat and the Princess
The ‘Princess’ has been kind enough to afford me the opportunity to post a response to her scathing post about me entitled ‘The Easter Bunny’.
Ladies and Gentleman this begrudging homework assignment is brought to you by none other than.. Mr Redcoat himself.
Firstly let me preface by saying that despite the fact that the ‘Princess’ paints me as some sort of major arsehole in her piece, she is in fact quite taken with me of late. This leads me to conclude either that I am an arsehole and she likes it or that I’m not an arsehole and she’s just lashing out because I didn’t bend to her will. After all, she did write a lovely little ditty about me in ‘Mr Redcoat: ‘Twas 13 Nights Before Christmas’.
I did indeed think that the ‘Princess’ looked like a stuck up bitch when I first saw her, though I did drool a little when making the observation. I pride myself on honesty and so told her as much. What’s more it seemed to be effective in disarming her as I’m fairly certain most men are obsequious, slavish and downright fawning when they meet our ‘Princess’. Now there is a distinct difference between being honest and being pugnacious/ hurtful, I believe I was the former.
My friend the so called cheater was busy [seducing] the Princess’s friend so I was stuck talking to the poodle. As the night wore on however, I was surprised to learn that my conversation partner was not only brilliantly clever (despite what the outfit suggested) but also emotionally deep. We shared stories of our respective pasts, regaling troubling times as if old friends. A connection was made. A lasting impression. Totally unexpected.
Over the subsequent days, as you all know I met the ‘Princess’ a few times and confirmed that she was a special find, worth pursuing and not the Kleenex poodle I initially thought. I then suffered a personal tragedy and the ‘Princess’ was there for me when I needed to talk on the phone or video chat. I didn’t much care for any sort of personal relationship at the time, indeed I wasn’t even sure I would be in New York much longer but something about her kindness really touched me. I barely knew this girl and here she was trying her best to console me. I felt instant remorse for my initial assessment of her. One should never judge books by their shiny pink heels.
We now come to the issue of the ‘eggs in one basket’. There I was, realizing that I’d found a jewel in that shithole bar in the city, surrounded by Santa costume donning buffoons. Realizing that I was very keen to see where things went with this beautiful, intelligent and outspoken rose. Then I recalled her blog. Her facebook. Her Instagram. Her laundry list of gentleman she always saw fit to reference ad nauseam in my presence. Guys that would send her pictures. Videos. Offer to marry her. Buy her things. It was all fine and dandy when I thought I was just entertaining her while my friend seduced her friend. It was fine when I met her for lunch. Then we met for just one hour before I caught my flight for Christmas. The clock slowed down and it hit me hard, I realized I liked this self aggrandizing Princess but I’m never going to be able to hold onto her. Not long enough for me to have a fighting chance. I was one among many and I knew I didn’t fit her criteria. So I asked that she stop seeing other guys. Part of me was being selfish and possessive because I didn’t know exactly where things were going. Part of me feared the old rule of ‘out of sight, out of mind would ring true’. Part of me just wanted to test her. I was still pissed that she had been to see this ‘Ken Doll’ and given me gory details on her visit when we went to lunch. Mr Redcoat does not share. I think that after just 3 times meeting in person, several phone calls and the odds stacked against us, it was reasonable to ask for a moratorium on ‘specimen slaying’ from someone I wanted to explore a future with. Labels were premature.
The shit really hit the fan when it came to light I had been talking to my ex girlfriend. OK so I downplayed her title a little but we hadn’t been serious for months. We talked when I was London dealing with the tragic loss of my mother. Not about her pussy. Not making plans to meet up. Not telling her I love her. Talking to her about my mum and how crushed I was. The ‘Princess’ thought she would cleverly investigate me and confronted me for my transgression. I didn’t lie and fessed up. No big deal right? Someone I’ve known for a year wants to be a shoulder for me to cry on, why is that a problem? Maybe the ‘Princess’ was looking for a way out of her perceived Faustian bargain and so made a mountain of a molehill. Maybe SHE was insecure. That was nearly the end for the ‘Princess’ and myself but I convinced her it was not worth axing our agreement over since I hadn’t physically been with my ex nor did I plan to be.
Communication between us was stilted and has dwindled significantly upon my return to beautiful New York in the new year. I was confused. I didn’t like being browbeaten in my fragile state and what’s more I didn’t need the stress of dating a private investigator with a memory akin to an elephant on Ritalin. I had to get my life back on track.
In spite of this I recalled how supportive and sweet the ‘Princess’ had been to me and how much I liked her before I left for London so I travelled to the far and distant land she calls home only to be met with the same behaviour I had resigned myself to avoiding. After hearing the umpteenth story about the Princesses’ legions of specimens chasing her and watching in slow motion as she crooned at the adoration she received on social media from would be suitors, I’d had enough. Rather childishly I decided to give her a taste of her medicine and told her about a girl I knew a few years ago sending me pictures. Boom. The double standard explosion ensued; this was unacceptable to ‘Princess Hypocrite’. I incurred her wrath and was promptly sent on my way, in the middle of the night. Thank fucking Christ I thought at the time but no, the ‘Princess’ decided to put a pin in this transgression and we continued the night. We had a pleasant evening and I was lulled into a false sense of security until the next day, she brought up the incident again! I was being chastised a second time for the same thing, which was totally inconsequential (the girl in question who messaged me lives on the opposite side of the country). I was done. A few days later I ended my association with the ‘Princess’. I wanted a simple life and I told her I didn’t like drama from Day 1. I blamed myself for letting it get so far.
A month passed and I had been thinking about the ‘Princess’ a lot. I’d felt short changed. There had been potential but it was too explosive, too soon after my return to the US. Had I messed up? No sense pondering that, best get on with life. Until I received a text from the ‘Princess’. She was in the city. Unfortunately I was travelling but I asked her to let me know the next time she was visiting. She did. We met. We picked up where we left off the first night we met. Everything that happened in between sort of fizzled away, it was as if all was forgiven and we both felt sheepish. Now given the fervour with which the ‘Princess’ and myself depicted events this may seem strange. However, as abruptly as I am about to end this post, we both realized that there is no substitute for true chemistry and everything else is just bullshit.
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