Nobody is immune to lovesickness. Not even Gertrud.
Lovesick! Sex-addicted, callous Miss “I change men faster than my underwear” Gertrud is lovesick! I couldn’t believe it when at our dinner date at Il Gallo she looked at me with gloomy eyes and unveiled her state of mind. “You of all people!” I blurted. She snorted insulted, knowing, however, that my outburst was justified. How many men has she taken advantage of without feeling the slightest remorse and how many hearts were broken by her! And now the tide has turned. Were the Mayas right after all? For me, such grotesque conditions are a sure sign that the end is near.
I shouldn’t make fun of her though. Lovesickness is no afternoon stroll. Although I can’t judge that, because my heartache always only lasts for a week in which I just want to die, am pessimistic as can be and am convinced that I will end up as an old and lonely spinster. A week therefore, as it usually takes that amount of time until I meet someone new. And realize that life has so much more to offer and that my so-called lovesickness is merely a synonym for “You always want what you can’t get – even if you didn’t even want it before”. Psychiatrists from all over the world would get a real kick out of analyzing me.
But Gertrud’s case was a different one. She was feeling miserable. Really, really miserable. Every second sentence begun with “He…“ and was accompanied by a heart-wrenching sigh. “He”, let’s call him George, really had her falling for him: good-looking, well educated, funny, smooth, and with a body made of steel. Besides, he was the first man with whom she felt completely at ease just being herself and could imagine herself being with him forever. Ironically, exactly that was the problem: George longed for a relationship himself – but not with Gertrud! Since the year one he ached for this ugly cow called Lisa (Gertrud’s words) and didn’t realize that he and my unhappy friend were made for each other.
If she was absolutely sure that she didn’t just want him because he was out of reach?
She shook her head sorrowfully. For weeks she has been in a depressed state and the awful feeling won’t go away. “Seriously, I even lost my appetite!” she whined while stuffing a fork full of spaghetti into her mouth. At night she can’t sleep because she’s thinking of him. In the mornings she can’t bring herself to get up because a day without him seems pointless. Every text message, every nice word, every sign of life from him puts her in a fluffy-airy cotton candy mood – until from all the lovestruck jumping around her rose-colored glasses fall off and she is back to her old glum self. “Never, never ever is he going to love me!” she wailed and then I actually saw the Iron Lady cry for the first time.
The best therapy against lovelornness is distraction, so I proposed to spend Sunday at her place where we could indulge in ice cream, chocolates and other figure ruining foods while making fun of pathetic Bridget Jones. “Sorry I’m already busy Sunday. I’m meeting Steven then.” Right. Of course. She might be yearning for George but at the same time humping everyone who’s available. Somehow her behavior reassured me. As long as Gertrud is still the same, the universe is alright. No apocalypse this year, Mayas!