The Chips or the Chocolate

She went and did it anyway. A great thickheaded thing is what she'd gone and done, knowing the whole time it was not a smart move. But Cheryl was no stranger to doing mindlessly foolish things, so when the gut-churning sensation of regret turned up that morning, it had a cheery 'hello again' look on its face. Regret had brought along his old mate Humiliation and they comfortably settled into their usual places, cracked a couple of coldies and started to talk about old times.

Whenever these interlopers visited Cheryl in her head, they took up so much room and made such a din that some of the usual residents, like Mature Response To Stress and Capacity To Get Out of Bed stalked off in a huff. So Cheryl had no choice but to stay in bed and cry.

This wouldn't have happened in the old days, she thought miserably. Back before bloody Bill bloody Gates and his bloody horrible bloody technology. In the old days, if you ever felt a compelling desire to make a total git of yourself, you had to actually turn up in person or post letters or telephone people. This gave the potential git ample time to recognise the stupidity of the proposed venture and make a quick getaway back to the world of rational behaviour. But these days all it takes is a quick click of the send button and git-dom is thine.

Things were much easier for Nana in her day, Cheryl mused. Sure, that Depression was most likely a bit of a downer and certainly the War must have been tough at times, but nothing compares to the horrors that technological advancements have inflicted on the human race. Thinking of her Nana and the way she'd always approached life's dramas with such good humour and dignity, Cheryl's sobbing took on a renewed vigour. Dignity? What the hell was that? I may have inherited your good teeth and chunky calves, Nana, but it seems the dignity thing failed to bob up in my end of the gene pool. Hiding under the quilt and occasionally groaning into her pillows, Cheryl's thoughts churned sadly along these lines for some time.

If it weren't for nature's more unattractive bodily functions, we can be sure Cheryl would have stayed in bed all day. Luckily, however, the human body is designed for waste removal so she eventually lugged her miserable self to the bathroom. Once her ablutions were done she realised she was unmistakably and irrevocably 'up' so she wandered into the kitchen. Cheryl, to her perennial disappointment, had never been one of those delicate wraith-like creatures who could count on Healthy Appetite to sedately disappear out of respect for the presence of Regret and Humiliation. (Her tendency to chunkiness of calf was somewhat exacerbated by this.) She was also in the grip of an overwhelming case of the hangover hungries so she armed herself with the cheese and onion crinkle cut chips, the family block of hazelnut chocolate and a diet coke – one has to make some concessions – and made for the couch.

This journey of no more than a few metres, however, was her undoing. Between the kitchen door, where she stood with her cache, and the aforementioned couch, was It. It was an entity of such evil aspect, such frightening power to provoke terror and insanity that Cheryl stopped in her tracks and stared at it with hatred and fear.

Sod off you disgusting machine! I am not turning you on. Not today, not ever. In fact I'm going to put you on Ebay and sell your despicable arse to the next idiot. Ok, not Ebay because that would require turning you on. Alright, into the Trading Post with you! Don't look at me like that. You and I are done. I am going to watch Love Actually again, eat myself sick and cry some more. Do you understand? I am positively never going near you ever, ever again! Putting down the snacks Cheryl sat at her computer and turned it on.

Right, Cheryl thought. There's no rule that says one must check emails just because the computer is on. I'll just look at last night's lotto results, check my bank account balance (to date the one had sadly never effected the other), and read the news. Like any normal person. Like any normal reasonable person who doesn't go about the place doing humiliating things late at night when they've had six glasses of wine too many. Cheryl sighed. She knew she wasn't that normal reasonable person. She was currently the perfect host to one of Regret and Humiliation's better parties after all. She was, in fact, the mindless idiot person who'd sent Greg an email last night. She swore to herself at the time that she was just typing things to express her emotions.. getting it all off her chest.. becoming empowered with self-awareness.. there was no way she'd actually paste it all into an email and send it to him. No way at all. Except that's exactly what she did.

"..never gotten over you.. blah blah.. how can I ever cope with being just your friend.. blah blah.. hate seeing you so fatuously happy with that ugly, stupid cow.. blah blah.. true love never dies so you never really loved me anyway.. blah blah.. what am I supposed to do without you.. blah blah.." It was, without a doubt, the most mortifying load of self-indulgent pathetic wallowing crap in the annals of thwarted love.

She dreaded having to read the coldness of Greg's reply. It would say he now regrets having suggested they remain friends and if she's going to be subject to such fits of despair following a simple lunch with him and Jen, perhaps in future she should kindly leave them the hell alone. He would think her a deadset fool and wonder what in blazes he'd ever seen in her. Oh God, this was worse than that time at work when she'd come out of the ladies with her skirt tucked into her knickers and nobody told her and she stayed on display till lunchtime. It was even worse than when she'd slipped one out at her sister's wedding and her little brother, in all his ring-bearer's finery, turned toward the congregation and announced 'Mum! Cheryl just fluffed!' In fact, this was worse than when Greg dumped her in the first place.

But not knowing was somehow worst of all. A morsel of her Nana's strength of character eventually came down through the years and inched its way along her mouse finger. Cheryl opened her email. No new messages. Thank God, she thought. Looks like he hasn't checked his emails today. He hasn't seen it yet. He doesn't totally hate me yet. Oh thank you merciful God on high for this reprieve! Then Cheryl realised he could easily have read the damn thing and instead of replying has instigated proceedings to have her committed. Or at the very least be applying for a Protection Order, changing his phone number to a silent line, and checking with his travel agent for the point on the globe furthest from her. Aaargh!

Cheryl closed her eyes against these unwelcome thoughts and a vision came to her: Rove McManus was hosting the annual Australian Git of the Year Awards,

These thoughts were interrupted by a bong. A very familiar, very frightening bong. She opened her eyes and there on her screen, where there hadn't been one moments before, was a little picture of an unopened envelope. Cheryl idly wondered what genius at microsoft had thought of that. With all the marvelously talented graphic designers in the world how come the best they could come up with was a little unopened envelope? Why not a gold-edged scroll or a chubby town crier? In fact, why not a note wrapped around a rock and hurled through a window?

Cheryl suddenly thought of that bit in Gone With The Wind, the bit near the end. Scarlett was scared to look into the eyes of the dying Melanie, sure that Melanie knew about her and Ashley. Something about preferring to face God on judgement day than this. Well, Scarlett had the guts to face it. Come on Cheryl. You're just as good as some adulterous southern tramp who didn't have the sense to snaffle Clark Gable when she had the chance. Deep breath. Open.

"Dear Cheryl you great bloody goose,

I rekkon you've been on the turps again. Whatever oh-so-hilarious internet joke you tried to send in the middle of the night didn't work. All I've got is a blank message. If it's any good send it again, but if it's the Ten Reasons Why Chocolate is Better Than Sex don't bother, cause I've seen it and I violently oppose its message lol. Lunch was great, Jen said she really enjoyed meeting you. We'll do it again soon.

Love Greg"

With disbelief and trembling fingers Cheryl clicked on sent items. Open. There it was in all its spectacular glory. A blank message. A beautiful, sensuous, life-affirming blank message. Quite possibly the most delightful blank message ever in the history of internet communications. Cheryl had heard of guardian angels but she'd never suspected that some were assigned to protect sad drunken women from clicking 'paste'.

Dizzy with relief, Cheryl left the computer. She popped her DVD into the slot, collected the remote and her stash of goodies and flopped onto the couch. She apologised to Regret and Humiliation as she unceremoniously shoved them out the door. Sorry chaps but I much prefer the company of Colin Firth and Liam Neeson so if you don't mind racking off now, I have a movie to watch. Cheryl knew she'd probably cry a few times, definitely at the end when that Beach Boys song started, but for now, her only concern was whether to start with the chips or the chocolate.