Hugh called *again* last night, sobbing, stumbling drunk, begging me to take him back. I've got to change my number; he just won't leave me alone.
It was fun in the beginning, when all we did was have quick dinners out, followed by long evenings of piano-playing, tap-dancing, and singing Judy's old songs. He loved my rendition of "The Man Who Got Away", especially when I did it as though I was half-smashed, wearing huge false eyelashes.
Then I made the mistake of telling him I liked his sideburns. After that, things began to go downhill. He was always so *serious*, talking about how we could move north, excavate a little den of our own, and raise a few litters of kits. He just couldn't understand that I wasn't ready to settle down, especially not with such a player. I mean, what about Kate? And don't tell me that that kiss with Meg was all acting.
So I told him as gently as I could that we'd have to go our separate ways. He took it hard. But really, what's a girl to do?
Plus, the claws were, frankly, a pain.