A marathon to the stars E-Book

Josephine Wegner

• Herausgeber: novum publishing
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 692

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2024

Beschreibung

Her daily life is dominated by a dreary job, self-doubt and a complicated love affair. And then her boyfriend gives her a vacuum cleaner for Christmas! Barbara realizes that the relationship has reached rock bottom. If only her heart didn't keep going against her head. She's sure she'll never see another man, Until a fateful encounter with her favorite singer brings new momentum and an old love into her life. Can her long-forgotten girlhood dreams come true? And is it even possible to believe in fairy tales in your mid-40s?

Leseprobe

Introduction

The people and events described in this story are purely fictitious. The celebrities mentioned are of course not involved in the fictional scenarios described or connected with them. Any resemblance to living or deceased persons or real events is purely coincidental and unintentional.

Barbara Blume calls it a day

In 2011, at the beginning of January

Break-up! Barbara Blume breaks up with her lover.

This could be a title in GALA. If I were famous. Then I would have a lot to offer the tabloids. If I were Julia Roberts or Verona Pooth, the front pages of all the magazines would be reserved for me for at least six months. I would give interviews all day long and have an army of paparazzi outside my apartment around the clock. Even my neighbors and friends would get rich from the fees for their information about me and my love life. I wonder what life as a VIP would be like. I would be able to read all the news of my movie-like story every morning myself. I would walk down a red carpet. Or I would be invited to Frauke Ludowig's special show "Exclusive". I wonder what that would be like. Strange? Frightening? Exciting? I get a bit carried away with the idea that my life could be interesting for other people. Of course I'm not famous, and I'm not likely to be. I'm a completely unknown office administrator who shares a remote office with a colleague. It's also unlikely that I'll achieve fame in my job. Unless you transfer a million into your own account and become a wanted man. And I don't have the criminal energy and nerve for that. So I remain insignificant in world history and in the tabloids. Nobody will find out about my courageous move. I'm just Barbara Blume. My close friends call me Barbi. Not to be confused with the famous Barbie, who prefers to wear pink. I'm Barbi from Bielefeld, who nobody knows and who can't profit from her grief because nobody cares.

It's not that I long for fame. On the contrary. I feel sorry for the poor stars and starlets when they can't go to the bakery in the morning in their out-of-bed look without being bothered. As a woman, you have a particularly hard time. You always have to look good, otherwise you'll be photographed somewhere on the beach without being asked and the press will pounce on your problem areas like vultures on their recently deceased prey. Even I, as a mere mortal, always feel the urgent need to go on a radical diet before my summer vacation in combination with lots of sit-ups, chunks and plank hip dips. I'm no longer the youngest and it's getting harder and harder to burn off the coffee sticks and pizzas in the short term.

Three months ago, I celebrated my 40th birthday. In keeping with my age, I invited friends over for brunch. At some point, the parties, which last until the early hours of the morning and end with a nasty hangover, became unpopular. Today, some guests are happy if you invite them over at 11:00am on Saturday. By 2:00pm at the latest, creative excuses are found to say goodbye. After all, there are so many other things to do at our age. The laundry has to be washed and ironed, the garden has to be tended, the children want to be picked up from soccer and the mother-in-law wants to be driven to a coffee party.

It has become increasingly difficult to find dates that suit all the guests. But on my special day, they were all there. Even my lover came to my small but lovely apartment, and it turned out to be a wonderful, exuberant birthday. This was mainly due to my dear and party-loving friend Katja, who stayed late into the night while the champagne bottles piled up in my old glass basket. That's possible.

My life can't be beaten for normality. I have a boring job in the accounts department of a medium-sized company that develops and manufactures machines. I go to the gym twice a week and go running at the weekend. I meet up with friends for dinner or at city festivals. I regularly go to Chris de Burgh concerts, which I've been a fan of since my early teens. After seeing him live for the first time with my mom when I was 14, I was in love for three years. His posters hung above my bed and his music played on a continuous loop. Of course, there were other stars like Depeche Mode or Hubert Kah, who I also quite liked. But nobody came close to Chris. I've now been to about 150 of his concerts.

I like movies like Forrest Gump or Sleepless in Seattle with Tom Hanks and of course Dirty Dancing. And I always have to wipe a tear or two from my eye during Pretty Woman when the scene in which Vivian leaves Edward comes on, accompanied by Roxette's tear jerker It must have been love. I am a sensitive person. On bad days, an unkind word from my boss or a dead hedgehog can throw me out of balance. Even fictional stories can get me so worked up that, in the worst-case scenario, I can't sleep for the next two weeks because of the emotion or drama. I have watched my favorite films hundreds of times over and over again with joy, and I have always enjoyed reading my favorite books a second or third time. If I like something, I am a loyal soul. This also applies to my friends:

Katja:

We've known each other since elementary school. From the days when we recorded songs from the radio and copied each other's homework on the bus in the morning. Katja is always in a good mood. You could easily hire her as a solo entertainer. Her humor and her sayings are unbeatable. She is cheerful even when she has no reason to be. She can laugh even when she feels like crying. It is always important to her to be a good daughter, a dear friend and a reliable employee. She always has explanations for her good-natured behavior. Her sentences usually start with "Yes, but...". Then the needs of others are always considered more important than her own. She has a heart of gold and bright blue eyes like a sapphire. I am happy and proud that she is my friend.

Brunhild, called Bruni:

I've known her since I left school, majoring in economics and accounting. Back then, she came home with me every Friday afternoon after school. Half-starved, we waited eagerly for the moment when Mom came home from the shops. Then we'd have sandwiches and watch ALF afterwards. To this day, we still like to quote lines like: "Kate, where's the casserole dish? The cat won't fit in the toaster." or "My explanation for the broken window goes something like Einstein: the failure of gravity." Bruni doesn't impress with fashion, except with a well-deserved negative award for the worst jogging bottoms I've ever seen in my life. I always laughed my head off when she received me at home in dark yellow, perforated ones with knees so baggy they could fit a wombat. Bruni is very clever and knows her way around a computer. She is also very creative, which you don't often find in this combination. She is a sensitive person on the inside, but she is anything but weak. She can be tough in her decisions and sometimes even to herself. I have rarely seen her cry. She is a particularly important and close friend.

Marina:

I've also known her since secondary commercial school. She has narrow cheeks and dark almond eyes that I could have killed for back then. I often went for a drink with her when we were bored after school. She was the first of my friends to have sex, and I listened to her reports a little enviously. Marina is a self-confident woman. Shyness is a foreign word for her. She's good at talking and presenting herself well. She has got through life well so far. Her self-esteem is reliable, unlike mine, and her advice is frighteningly honest. If she wasn't my friend, it would be a disaster.

I urgently need these friends to support me. Because I've been in a relationship with a married man for eight years. Well, not anymore.

A week has now passed since I broke up with him. On that fateful day, Katja persuaded me to spend the evening with her, her new boyfriend and a few other people. It was the last day of the year, and of course we had to celebrate. I'm not a big fan of New Year's Eve. The expectations for this night are usually very high. Just sitting at home with friends and making fondue is no longer enough. And on January 1, some people want to change their entire life, even though it was perfectly okay up until then. Do more sport, stop smoking, work less, save more money, etc. My resolution was that I wasn't going to make one. I just wanted to survive the night. And my life couldn't get any worse.

"Don't argue, you're coming with us today. Don't hide away and have some fun with us. You absolutely have to meet Felix. He's a policeman," Katja told me, and I knew she wouldn't take no for an answer.

So my friend got herself a policeman. In other words, a man who can handle firearms, which has a clichéd appeal to women. I have somewhat mixed feelings. On the one hand, you can feel very protected when you're out and about with a friend and helper. On the other hand, of course, he'll keep a close eye on you if you don't follow the law to the letter. Not that I'm planning to do that, of course, I'm just being hypothetical.

Katja loves carnival, Christmas, birthdays and New Year's Eve and never misses an opportunity to celebrate. And if she's in the mood for a party, she wants all her loved ones there. After I had tried to make my appearance halfway presentable, which was really a top performance due to my previous crying attacks, we met at the Stadtpalais. In insider circles, the shed is also known as the "leftover chest".

When I arrived, Katja was standing at the bar with a man she knew from the tennis club. After a screaming greeting and a hug, she introduced me.

"He's a millionaire," she whispered in my ear. She obviously thought it was worth mentioning, as if that was a particularly good quality in a man that should be emphasized. Rolf, the millionaire, must be around 60. He was in the company of plenty of young ladies who had gathered in a crowd and were waiting their turn to drink champagne with him.

He was obviously quite drunk when he handed me his business card with his private number.

"I'll give you my number here, please put it away immediately and don't show it to anyone. I would like to see you again. Please call me."

I took the card and discreetly tucked it into my jeans. I obviously enjoyed Rolf's trust.

"What would you like to drink? Champagne?"

"Yes, I'd love to," I squeaked a little shyly.

Apparently, he was interested in me and started a conversation. But it wasn't all that exciting. I realized that men with money can be very sure of themselves and are happy to disregard manners without feeling the slightest bit ashamed. Rolf came so close to me with his face that I could clearly feel his wet pronunciation. It was only due to the fact that I was brought up to be polite that I didn't leave immediately. As a child, I learned to let someone finish, whether I liked it or not. And Rolf could talk. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he turned his attention to another lady who greeted him happily. I watched as pretty and probably intelligent women staged a veritable battle to make an impression on the guy who had nothing to offer apart from money and spit. So sorry, I really didn't have to join in.

On my escape from Rolf, I met a pair of dark eyes that looked at me lustfully. It was Toli, another acquaintance of Katja's whom she had once met in Mallorca. He told me directly and bluntly that I was very sweet and asked if he could give me a hug. He grinned broadly. Really! What kind of crude pick-up line was that? I went along with it for a moment, but immediately regretted it when I felt Toli's hands on my hips. I kept an eye out for Katja. She knows loads of dodgy guys like that, and I have to see how I get on with them. I saw her close and intimate with her new boyfriend Felix on the dance floor. Toli must have gotten the impression that I was very needy and ready for love, because he started kissing me. I told myself I had to really show my ex and kissed him back.

How long would it take for the comfort of my heartbreak to set in? There I was, snogging a stranger in a club and pretending that my broken heart wasn't there anymore, just like girls just want to have fun. I had to admit to myself that it wasn't fun at all. Instead, I felt more and more dislike for my snogging partner, whose kisses were far too wet, far too clumsy and far too loveless. It's really too bad that I can't enjoy that kind of thing. I wonder how others do it. Marina, for example, can have the most exciting sex experiences with different partners all the time, unless she's in a committed relationship. But I don't enjoy one-night stands. Sex without love? That doesn't work for me. It's not even close to being a small comfort. It's just a sad confirmation that such an unsuccessful congener of the man who has captured my heart would never manage to catapult me into sensual spheres. And that doesn't feel good, no, it hurts! And so I did the only thing I had left to do in this situation. I went crying to the exit. Katja accompanied me.

"Sweetie, you were so brave all evening. I couldn't have held out."

"I just want my Teddy Bear," I replied, sobbing. "Why isn't he doing anything? He didn't even send a text message for New Year."

She looked at me sympathetically. "Are you going to be okay, or do you want me to walk you home?"

"No, that's sweet, but I have to go through it alone. Have fun with Felix, the inspector."

I went out into the cold New Year's night. The air was frosty and there was snow on some of the sidewalks. The cold penetrated deep into my soul. It rose up inside me like the freezer burn on a frozen pizza. I walked to the bus stop to catch the night bus. My footsteps crunched in the snow. What if I just froze to death now? My feet already felt numb. When would my heart freeze? Could it be that one day I would wake up and no longer have to think about him? Of what we had? Of what could have been if he hadn't been such a coward and given me a chance?

The next morning, I woke up in hellish pain. Under the influence of the remaining alcohol in my blood, I crawled out of bed to go to the toilet and then pill shards of glass. I'm actually tough, but that hurt like hell. But there was something else that hurt even more than the worst bladder infection ever: the separation from Teddy Bear! The attempt to distract myself was a total failure. Although I had brought two phone numbers home with me. Was that perhaps a sense of achievement after all? Could I be proud of being able to choose between a millionaire with a wet tongue and a groper? Who can say that about themselves? It proves that I at least still have a chance on the market. A small hope that maybe one day there will be someone I could love as much as Mr. Björn Schatz.

I thought about it over a bladder and kidney tea. Had he perhaps contacted me? I checked my cell phone: negative. I checked my emails: nothing. Oh, what did I expect? The gentleman is probably offended now because his cuddle mouse has been taken away from him. I served as his toy for a whole eight years. For eight years of my life, I was the Wednesday evening and Saturday morning entertainment. That's over now, Mr. Schatz! Oh, it would be nice if I could forget about you really quickly now. Do what you deserve. Banish you from my life and arrange to meet Rolf AND Toli immediately. I could send your wife a few more explicit, hot pictures of her unfaithful husband so that you won't be happy either. Yes, that would be fair. I have a folder on my computer called Erotic. There you can find photos of my ex-lover in explicit poses. For example, Teddy Bear tied to the bed with plush handcuffs, Teddy Bear naked on the beach in Formentera or Teddy Bear dressed only in an apron in my kitchen cooking pasta. What a scandal it would be if I sent his wife this proof of the double life her husband has been leading for some time! What a triumph it would be if I were to destroy his life too! That would be the revenge he deserved.

Yes, revenge is sweet! It's good to see your ex suffer, even if it's only in your mind. And that's nothing reprehensible, it's normal. Every lovesickness guidebook describes these phases of a break-up. After the mourning phase comes the anger phase, which I'm probably in now. There you go, everything goes according to plan, as with any heartbreak. That's also kind of reassuring! Instead of calling my potential suitors or indulging in an act of revenge, I went back to bed. I just wanted to pull the covers over my head and leave the bad world outside. Dreaming of a life with my loved one that I would never have again. So I slept through the whole of New Year's Day. However, I didn't feel like I was missing out on anything either. Apart from my mother, no one had tried to reach me. I had to call her back and wish her a Happy New Year. Mom is a kind-hearted woman with big dreams and little courage, a rebel on the inside and a gentle angel on the outside. She has always settled for far too little her whole life. For example, with my father. Marriage was a purely rational decision. Afterwards, she had one or two affairs, which I really didn’t begrudge her. Fate didn't mean well. Her extramarital boyfriend died of a heart attack when he was 41. I was still little, but I remember very well and painfully the weeks in which my mom cried from morning to night. Only her husband didn't notice any of this. My father is an insensitive, unromantic, indifferent contemporary who never cared about his wife's feelings. If I were an exact mix of my parents, I would be half boredom and half stimulation. Half enthusiasm, half slackness. Half travel enthusiast, half couch potato. I would be dreams versus sobriety. Luckily, I take after my mother a lot more.

In the meantime, my parents have come to terms with the fact that their marriage is not about love. It's about things like: What are we cooking today? Or: Can we deduct the cost of the medication from our taxes? Or: When are we going to pick up the plums from Aunt Regine? My mother never had the courage to leave my father. The active woman with a penchant for dreaming and a bit of craziness in her genes has turned into an old and anxious person. However, she likes to devote herself to my life, supports me and gives me motherly advice, no matter what I've just messed up.

"Barbara, how are you? I'm worried."

What should I say? That I'm miserable as a dog, have a bad hangover and am about to send a picture of Teddy Bear dressed only in an apron to his wife?

"Oh, Mom, it was late last night, but I had a nice evening. I had another lie down earlier."

"Oh, well, your father and I also had a glass of champagne at midnight, then we quickly went to bed. Has your Teddy Bear contacted you again?"

"No, he didn't."

"Oh, it's always the same: you're unhappy, then you break up with him, and then you realize that you're not happy without him either."

"Yes, those are great prospects, aren't they? I won't be happy with him, and I won't be happy without him either."

"Oh, my child, if only I knew what was right."

"I don't know myself, mom. But I have to go through with it now. It's his decision too. He could have changed something, but he didn't. I'm not 18 anymore. I can't just be a mistress all my life. But I don't know if I can do it without him. He's the love of my life."

Tears welled up in my eyes again. Heartache hurts so much. Should I give up on the love of my life? What if I never find another man who I find at least halfway nice? I would have no one to take care of me and my needs. Will I be destined to go out to eat alone and walk through the woods alone? And there would be no one to share my enthusiasm for a sunset or a clear starry sky with. If I wanted to hang up a picture, I would have to put up the plugs and screws myself. And what about sex? I had to quickly check my emails again, miracles happen every day.

You've got mail, my computer said! My heart began to race. Six emails, five of them from Ebay classifieds, because I had advertised my closet, and one was from TEDDY BEAR. Trembling, I opened the inbox:

"My love, it hits me very hard, but I can understand you, honestly. You hoped that I would stay with you forever, but I was too cowardly to start something new, partly out of fear that things might not work out between us. There was no going back for me. My fear was probably greater than my love for you. But you have to know one thing: I've never loved anyone as deeply as I love you and that will always be the case. I can't simply turn love off. You gave me more than I could give you in those eight years, but you were always number one in my heart, even if it didn't seem like it. I tried to spend every spare minute I could with you, but I understand that wasn't enough for you. Now I'm leaving your life, which hurts us both a lot. It's better for you. You still have a lot of time ahead of you to be happy. If you need anything or need help, let me know, I can't leave you in a bad way. If I had written on paper, everything would be wet. Take care of yourself. Always your Teddy Bear"

I lit a cigarette because I had spontaneously decided to start smoking again on New Year's Eve. Then I picked up the phone. I really needed to talk to someone, so I called Katja.

"He simply accepts my decision. That's quite a deceitful act. He's not trying to get me back, is he?"

"Honestly? I would have expected more from him. In principle, it's just a summary of the overall situation, nothing more. He's not suggesting something. He's not trying to change your mind. And he doesn't want to change anything. I think you've made the right decision. Men have to realize that they can't have everything. You didn't answer him, did you?"

"No, to what? He didn't even ask how I was."

"I'm proud of you, Barbi. You can do it. Look at me: After breaking up with Oliver, I finally have a nice guy again who I get on well with. Okay, he doesn't look like Brad Pitt, but he's nice to me. And we really have fun together."

"Do you love Felix?"

"Yes, I think so."

Katja is still married to Oliver. After she caught him cheating two years ago, she immediately moved out of the apartment they shared.

"I can't possibly live with a man who has had sex with someone else," she said.

They had a beautiful, big wedding with huge fanfare. Then they went on their honeymoon to the Bahamas. That was only two years ago. And then Katja had the idea of inspecting Oliver's cell phone after he had behaved strangely. I wonder why a man can cheat on a good-looking, cheerful woman who works full-time and still cooks dinner for her husband with love. Are men so constructed that they can't pass up an opportunity? Could he simply not say no to the lady from Saxony because that's the way he is programmed? After all, he is still friends with Katja. The two of them meet regularly to go running, as they have always been a well-coordinated team in sports. I think Katja just hasn't really been able to let go yet and wanted to keep some of the everyday life with Oliver. Separation from bed and table, but not from habits. They also kept their circle of friends together as far as possible. After Katja's separation, we went out a lot and she met a new man almost every time. There was the boxer, the Porsche driver, the student, the biker, the hot Sven and now the inspector. My friend has really let it rip since then. For me, there were always just the stupid jerks who had nothing to offer either on the outside or the inside. Like Stefan. I let him chat me up in the beer bar with the words:

"What's your name? Got a boyfriend?"

It reminded me a little of the archaic instincts of a caveman as I was pulled onto the dance floor by him, but when Wolfgang Petry started singing, I had the chance to leave Stefan standing there, baffled. He then continued to bawl on his own: "Madness! Why are you sending me to hell? Hell, hell, hell ..."

Well, if you go to the beer bar, you shouldn't assume that you'll meet a handsome guy with good manners who might fall in love with you. That would be a movie. But this is real life.

This morning started just like the ones before. I woke up and the first thing I felt was my bladder. Then I felt a stab that goes so nastily into my heart. It makes it unmistakably clear that you are still alive, but something is wrong. And that the first crying fit is on the agenda before breakfast.

Now I stand in the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror. Have I held up well despite being 40 years old? Am I still beautiful? Do I still have opportunities? Thanks to regular fitness with step aerobics and belly, legs, buttocks I've got most of my problem areas halfway under control. Except for my connective tissue. If you're prone to cellulite, there's nothing you can do about it. I've tried expensive creams and plucking massages, hot mustard ointments and cold showers. I've since given up. I also need to exercise my arms a bit more and my knees look a bit flabby at the sides. Unsightly little thread veins have appeared on my calves like fine spider webs in the morning dew. My breasts aren't the kind of thing men would adore either. I wear size 80B, which means small breasts but a large chest, which would of course be more advantageous the other way round. You can do a lot of magic with push-up bras and make your cleavage look plumper, but at the latest when he rips your clothes off, your lover will realize that you've cheated anyway. But then he won't say "sorry, I don't like your breasts" and kick you out of bed. And if he does, then you haven't missed anything.

Men are supposed to be relatively relaxed about female problem areas anyway and even find some parts of our bodies that we don't like sexy. Like a big bottom, for example. When we are over 30 and dare to wear skinny jeans, which are normally reserved for teenagers, we look at ourselves critically in the mirror from all sides. Men, on the other hand, drool at the sight of it and want to have sex in the Zara changing room straight away. So let's move on to my bottom, because so far all my ex-boyfriends have found it more than okay. It's supposed to be the case that everyone has some kind of visual advantage that makes them look beautiful in their own individual way. In my case, it's my bottom, because it's nice and round and cuts a good figure in tight jeans. The only question is how much longer. If I'd had the choice, I would have opted for a pretty face, because that's what my fellow human beings get to see much more often. Unfortunately, mine doesn't fit the ideal of beauty. My lips look too narrow under a nose that is too wide. My cheeks, which should be narrow, are quite wide. My eyes fluctuate between green and brown depending on my mood. My smile makes me look well-behaved and reliable, not unlike a good-natured cow. And that's kind of what I am. Today I help my appearance with a little make-up and a plumping lip gloss, and I look a little nicer. A little mascara on my eyelashes and my look becomes deep and mysterious. My problematic hair is transformed into a shiny, softly falling hairstyle thanks to my straightener.

That morning, I make every effort to look good. I don't know what possessed me, but my silly heart believes in love. Maybe Teddy Bear will spontaneously break up with his wife after all. It just can't be over. Not yet. Maybe today, despite all reason, he could turn up on my doorstep with his toothbrush. If that happens, I have to look at least vaguely like a goddess. I don't want to start reconciliation and a new life crying in my pajamas. I opt for a short, gray knitted dress with tights. Teddy Bear actually prefers bare legs, but in winter he can't wait for that, especially now that I'm having problems with my bladder. I slip into my slippers, which have a little lamb sewn onto them and are labeled Innocent Lamb. Teddy Bear has similar ones, only with a deer and the words Always on the prowl. I gave them to him as a present. After all, he should feel comfortable here, and that includes warm feet.

I switch on the computer, all made up, styled and nicely dressed. No more emails. I feel that cruel stab in my heart again. I reply:

"Dear Teddy Bear,

No one can give you a guarantee. Your whole life is a risk. You didn't believe in US and you didn't trust me. But I would never have let you down. I love you more than anything else in the world. It's been that way since I've known you, and it will always be that way. It's so sad that we don't have a chance. I can't imagine being happy without you. All that remains is the memory and the idea of what could have been. I can't forget you.

Always your cuddle mouse"

I save the email under "Drafts". I send it late in the evening.

Are we going to sleep together again?

"Tell me, are we going to sleep together again?"

I've heard this question a lot over the last eight years. It usually came in a direct way whenever I had punished my sweetheart with love deprivation for a while. Every now and then I had good reason to be offended, insulted and disappointed. Our dates were always sacred to me. But Teddy Bear had a habit of sometimes postponing our fixed dates, bringing them forward or, in the worst case, canceling them altogether because he had so many other important things to do. His job as a car appraiser has not been enough for him for a long time. He is also chairman of the sports club and has been a member of the CDU for several years. This has earned him the position of senior citizens' adviser. Yes, my boyfriend looks after the old people in Bielefeld. That's why he's often in the newspaper and always expects praise and, shall I say, a kind of pride of ownership from me. Which is of course difficult when you don't officially have a claim to ownership. He is also still an enthusiastic judo coach. At the end of the 1980s, I was also a member of the club after taking a self-defense course with Katja. I have to admit that I only signed up because I found the man really likeable and extremely sexy. My participation was successful, at least as far as our love affair was concerned. Things didn't go so well in terms of sport. It took me two years to pass my white-yellow belt exam. Sometimes Teddy Bear would show us judokas how to throw someone to the floor within milliseconds with targeted moves. When he chose me for this, I got palpitations. And usually, I blushed too. And when I urgently felt the need to get closer to him, I pretended to have circulatory problems. Then he took loving care of me and my state of health and usually asked in passing whether I wanted to call him again so that we could arrange a date. Mr. Schatz's other activities include art. He paints watercolors, and quite successfully at that. He often has to prepare an exhibition or take care of the marketing and sale of his paintings. Of course I am also proud of his talent. The pictures are very beautiful. He also painted one of me once. It shows me in a revealing pose in the middle of the dunes on the island of Langeoog. I have several of his paintings hanging in my apartment. It's not that I know anything about art, but I love colors. I recently asked him to paint an abstract picture. It's made up of shades of red, purple, orange and yellow. It matches my interior perfectly and creates a good mood, which can never hurt. Another picture shows a lady raising her index finger, wearing a black dress and huge sunglasses against a bright red background. She looks a little stern. That's why we've called the picture Don’t run into debt.

With all the activities that my boyfriend constantly had on his plate, it was understandable that I often felt neglected. It also didn't suit me at all when he expected me to follow his every whim. After all, I still had a full-time job, he could organize his work and was already preparing for retirement. But the worst thing was when he went on vacation with his wife. He usually didn't come out with the cruel truth until very late, because he knew that trouble was inevitable. Who likes the idea of your lover sitting with his wife at Lake Titisee or on Sylt by the sea instead of with you and spending the days and, even worse, the nights in a confined space with her? He can tell me as often as he likes that there's nothing going on and that he's only doing it to get away because he really needs a vacation. It was a nightmare for me every time. There were always arguments between us. After all, I couldn't let him take me for granted. Then I often canceled dates and when we saw each other, I refused to show him affection. And then came the question I mentioned earlier:

"Are we going to sleep together again?"

"I don't know ..."

"Are you tired of your Teddy Bear?" he then asked, smiling sweetly.

Should I give in? Or savor my offence a little longer? I never went so far as to have a serious argument or even break up with him. I just wanted to unsettle him a little. To make him try harder again. Sometimes I was a bit worried that he really wouldn't sleep with me in the end. Making love to him is really something extraordinary. Maybe it's because we see each other so rarely because, as I mentioned, I'm only his secret lover. But this rarity is what made it so appealing. It had no chance of becoming commonplace. The age difference never bothered me either. The fact is that Teddy Bear is 30 years older than me. Wealth is often assumed in such cases. But he doesn't have that to offer. It's not that he's doing badly financially, but I don't have much of that. I have no claim on his pension or his inheritance. His charming appearance and beautiful smile were enough to convince me. And that love in his eyes made him simply irresistible to me. I would also like to emphasize that he doesn't look or act like he's over 70. His sport has given him a well-trained body, except for a tiny little belly that gives him something imperfect. His many activities keep him mentally fit, as they say.

As far as love is concerned, I've had a rather modest life so far. I can really count my ex-boyfriends on one hand. I had two longer relationships before my last love affair with Teddy Bear. I was with Heiko Schmidt for two years. Then he cheated on me with Alex. I spent seven years with Udo Bohlmann. Then I cheated on him. My only childhood love lasted only six weeks, but I'd like to mention it here anyway. I suffered so much because of Markus Meppmann. He's now long since married. And to the girl he met right after me. She became a staid tax assistant, his wife and mother of two children. Everything went smoothly with her. And what was wrong with me? I've asked myself that all my life. Although I'm a deep one, you can't say that I'm boring. When I was with Markus, I tried very hard to be romantic and ecstatic. Once I kissed him without restraint in the "Big Monster" at the funfair. Another time, I persuaded him to break through the wire mesh fence into the Safari Park in Schloß Holte-Stukenbrock because the entrance fee was always so expensive. Was I too exhausting for him? Was he getting dizzy with me? After he unexpectedly broke up with me, I kept a lot of diaries, whined my ears off to my friends and listened to my favorite singer Chris de Burgh's cuddly ballads loudly and endlessly. And while I was still hoping he would call me and regret having so shamefully banished me from his life, he was already walking around the funfair holding hands with Tatjana and snogging her on the Music Express. I was 17 and thought my life was over. I wrote Markus letters a few times, like this one:

"Hello Markus, something is hurting me inside. It's probably the longing for you. But you're not there. There's no one there, just my damn feelings for you, which you don't care about at all. But I'm not just anyone, my love isn't just anything. My love is special, just like everyone. I am special, just like everyone. So I'm not really special at all. Do you understand that? I don't understand anything anymore. All I know is that I can never like you again, even though I love you. You really suck! Barbara"

That was a long time ago. Of course, I never sent these letters, which were written in the depths of puberty. I've kept them ever since. As a memorial! They have moved five times and now, when I read them, the girl with the handwriting that is so similar to mine is a stranger to me. I only recognize this nasty pain, triggered by lovesickness. As often as I have suffered from it, I almost want to say that Barbara and lovesickness somehow belong together. Lovesickness has become my nasty buddy. I know him well and we often went for a drink together. Over the years, I've never found the quickest way to get rid of it. Neither at 17 nor at 40. He's stubborn. He bites hard and won't leave. And he makes me do things that make a complete fool of myself or makes me carry out senseless acts of revenge. I once persuaded a friend to come to Markus' parents' house on New Year's Eve. We had drunk plenty of sparkling wine beforehand and I cockily put a firecracker in the Meppmanns' letterbox. Then we ran off giggling. We drank another glass of sparkling wine to our successful mission, smoked a cigarette and felt great. Sometimes I still think about repeating such or similar actions today. Not because I miss Markus. But because he treated me so badly. Unfortunately, I can't find anyone who would still join in at the moment.

I had even moved in with my boyfriend Heiko. When he broke up with me, I made a complete fool of myself. Maybe it was due to my young age of 24, because I did everything wrong that you can do wrong. I asked him to give us another chance. To make it easier for him, I gave him a photo album with all the beautiful moments from our relationship. I really hoped that it would impress him and that he would come back to me. Of course, he didn't come back to me. I cried my eyes out again and thought I would never find anyone I could love like Heiko Schmidt again. After four months, there was a little bit of satisfaction: his new girlfriend had broken up with him. There was a rumor going around that she was a nymphomaniac and that there was a list in which every guy was included with a photo and a rating of their sexual performance. She dumped all the guys after four to five months at the latest. And Heiko Schmidt was no different. I had moved back into my former apartment after the break-up and had come to terms with the end. When the lady left, Heiko remembered me again. It's a phenomenon. I think ex-lovers can sense when you're over them. And they don't seem to like it either. I was called and lured to his apartment under flimsy pretexts. There was no mistaking the fact that he had come to regret the affair and was possibly thinking about a new start. And then I did something right. I blew him off. A feeling of superiority and absolute satisfaction! A few weeks later, I had some more fun with my former neighbors Roland and Andrea. They had also fallen out with Heiko. They were practically like-minded people. We rang his doorbell. He opened the door and looked at us in amazement.

"We wanted to apologize," Roland said deadpan.

Heiko replied in irritation: "What now? Yes ... then come in first."

"Don't bother," I said, "we just wanted to wish you a good life. Bye."

Andrea repeated my words.

"Have a nice life, Heiko."

We laughed and then we just left. Yes, the action was ridiculous and childish. But I felt much better from that day on. Believe me, fellow women, you're never too old to make fun of your ex. You're never too mature to think up a nasty revenge. When Katja found out about Oliver's infidelity, she wanted to place an ad in the name of the east bitch, as she has called the lady ever since: Swetlana, young and insatiable, is looking for men for hot games. It was difficult to dissuade her. After a bottle of Prosecco, she called the woman directly to make a slug of her personally. When I asked her what she had said, she simply replied:

"I have no idea. But I think it was the right thing to do."

She felt better after that. It also frees the wounded heart when you let off steam.

I then had to leave my last boyfriend Udo. Somehow it never worked out between us. I got involved with him back then because I was looking for a bit of comfort after the debacle with Heiko. I never thought I would move in with him and that it would take me seven years to dump him. Udo didn't like sport, except on TV, and he didn't like going out. He preferred to have fun in the bedroom or in the living room, which had an oversized TV. His favorite shows were Emergency Callwith Hans Meiser and Barbara Salesch, the judge with bright red short hair. What a pain in the neck I had when the lady stared at me and announced the verdict when I came home from work. Udo sat relaxed in front of the TV, with a coffee and a cigarette, and told me what exciting things I had missed from the trial. Not that I was interested. Some days I would have preferred not to go home at all. Udo was also constantly short of money and was happy to let me feed him. I had three unhappy years with Udo, then I moved into my own apartment. Three years later, it was finally over. I have to admit that I like to shirk such serious decisions. And that I'm sometimes pretty crazy. We arranged to meet several weekends, almost exclusively at my place, and spent the time in bed or in front of the TV. We also liked to eat, because Udo was always very hungry. I filled the fridge every Friday and it was empty every Sunday evening. And Udo went home full. Was I too slow to realize that he couldn't make me happy? Was I afraid of change? I was bored to death and didn't do anything about it.

On September 11, 2002, something surprising happened. Somewhat strangely, it was exactly the first anniversary of the terrible attacks on the World Trade Center. A date that will stay with me forever and ever. I was at the wine market in Bielefeld with Bruni, her colleague Anneliese and my colleague Roswitha when I saw HIM. When the direct attack on my heart and my peaceful life took place. The loving look and that tender, almost shy smile hit me like a ton of bricks. Bruni said I looked as if David Copperfield himself had put me into a trance. Should I have run away? From the fate that was now taking its course? I didn't run away. I walked towards him until we looked each other straight in the eye. I was beaming like a honeycomb horse. And so was he. Then the unbelievably wonderful thing happened. He gave me a hug. Deeply. I breathed in his scent. Lagerfeld, his aftershave. Nowhere does it smell as intimate and erotic as on him. Even back then, I could sniff him for hours. It put me in a state of bliss. He had been my first great love, apart from Markus Meppmann and my platonic love for Chris de Burgh. And this love had a lot to offer. There were only secret meetings, initially always in his car as I didn't have my own apartment yet. I had my first sex with him in a Golf II, with the Scorpions singing Still loving you. A little later, he bought a Mercedes. But it wasn't any more comfortable. One summer, we went to Bavaria to Kochelsee on a motorcycle. We slept in a tent and cooked bean stew with the camping stove. After two and a half years, I parted with a heavy heart. That was ten years ago.

And now the man was standing in front of me, smiling incredibly sweetly and asking the typical questions when you haven't seen each other for so long.

"How are you doing? Do you still work at Schluppe? Where are you staying now? You look great."

Teddy Bear told us the following: He has handed over the surveyor's office to his son Rudolf and only helps out occasionally. He now has plenty of time to go on vacation. He has bought another house and is renovating the apartments so that he can then rent them out. Markus Meppmann, who is now self-employed as a plumber, renovates the bathrooms there. We were talking and laughing when suddenly a small, fat woman came up to us. She stamped her feet angrily and gave Björn a punishing look.

"That's a friend of Markus Meppmann's," Teddy Bear explained to his wife.

"Well, after all, I was at judo training for a long time," I added.

I tried to maintain an arrogant attitude. I clearly had the better figure and was much younger and prettier. The short woman didn't make a face, didn't say a word and then turned on her heel. He gave me another big hug as we said goodbye.

"Could it be that you still care about him?"

Bruni and I were leaning against the streetcar line 1 on our way home after having tasted plenty of wine. I sighed to myself and stared into the air, lost in thought.

"Mm, could be."

"You look like you're in love."

"Mm, I think there's something else ... it was so nice to see him. Yes, I think he still means something to me. Is that so bad?"

"Just be careful! Don't let the whole misery start all over again."

"Today I just want to enjoy it. He smiled at me so sweetly ... I have to get out, sleep well, we'll hear from each other."

Had she really said "misery"?

About ladybugs and withdrawal symptoms

After her break-up with Oliver, Katja tried to compensate for her grief by looking for other men, and I was her suitable companion. I didn't hold out much hope that I might meet an unmarried Mr. Right. I think back to the evening when we celebrated her newly signed tenancy agreement after she moved out. At first, our meeting didn't go well at all. My frizzy hair had always been an incalculable risk for me, especially when I wanted to go out or had an important appointment. All it took was a little higher humidity, a gust of wind or a little sweating and my hair would puff up and stick out chaotically in all directions from my head. That's why I bought a hair straightener two years ago. In my opinion, this is one of the greatest inventions of mankind, which has helped me to become much more dignified and self-confident. I've been able to relax much better since then, knowing that my hair wouldn't willfully turn into something that had nothing to do with hairdressing. Never again did I want to experience a situation as bad as the one when I bought a new dress for Teddy Bear's vernissage in a trendy store in Bielefeld. The salesclerk pointed out that the dress looked good on me and then she said: "But the hair!" I have to say that I had come there on my bike and the breeze had destroyed mercilessly my efforts to get my hair done. It was a total humiliation for me.

I pulled my beloved straightener through the strands of hair, but nothing happened. It had gone on the fritz overnight. Just like that. In my hair-disaster emergency, I finally found an old curling iron that I used to use for styling. It was drizzling outside, which ruined the hairstyle for good. I looked like an old natural broom in a storm.

I met Katja at the town hall.

"I signed the rental agreement today!!!"

"You've got what? That's great!"

Katja and I screamed like crazy teenagers and hugged each other.

"I'm so proud of you. You know what? We don't put up with anything anymore! We only do what we enjoy."

"Exactly. I just want to think about myself for now. I don't want someone for whom I have to cook and iron again and who then goes to bed with an older woman from the East as a reward. Have you got a new hairstyle, by the way?"

"No, an evil freak of nature."

After dinner at the Italian restaurant, we went to a bar. There was a guy sitting next to me who smiled at me the whole time. There you go, despite my shaggy hair. What a fun evening! As the alcohol level increased, I had a great time. The guy actually chatted with me. He talked a lot. Mostly about himself. I had to listen to a lot of stories about his ex-relationships, the big disappointments he'd had in his life and how he'd always been taken advantage of by the oh-so-evil women. The guy really was a trigger for depression.

"Boy, are you really surprised? Look at you, you wreck of a soul, that's how you want to make a woman happy?" I thought pitilessly and said pitifully:

"Oh, that's sad. But I'm sure you'll find the right girl!"

Yes, that's me. Always kind and polite.

In the end, we ended up at the Beer-Bar, although I had initially refused. The Beer-Bar has only one purpose: to tow or be towed. They play music by Wolle Petry or Marianne Rosenberg. Katja met Volker that evening. We called him the boxer, and he really looked scary. Like a bouncer or a bodyguard or a boxer. I wouldn't like to meet him at night, to be honest.

"Are you sure? This guy?" I asked, a little worried.

She ran her hand through her long, blonde hair and said that the bad boys were more attractive to her more than the good boys.

"You know, that's something different from a nice son-in-law who sucks up to my parents."

"Yes, that's different, you're right."

Incidentally, it didn't last long with the guy. This is how Katja describes him today:

"He didn't have much in his head, but he was really good at lugging heavy boxes and furniture when I moved."

As far as I was concerned, I once again only met complete idiots, one of whom was so persistent that I had to ask our boxer for help. But the guy quickly realized that I wasn't interested. There's one thing I don't understand: why do some men have an appearance like Mr. World, even though they have nothing else to offer apart from a pimple face and a beer flag? Am I sending unconscious signals that are completely misunderstood? Do I look like I'm looking for a man to grab me, intelligence and looks unimportant? An acquaintance once said to me that I have such a kind, motherly nature. A good-natured dairy cow! I urgently need to work on that.

Everything was different with Teddy Bear. His tender embrace felt good, his words enchanted me, his touch was addictive. After we met again at the wine market, a week and a half passed without us hearing from each other.

"What am I supposed to do? He won't get in touch."

My colleague Roswitha looked at me sympathetically.

"Yes, he's probably unsure. He doesn't know how you live now, whether you're married or have children."

We were sitting in Schluppe's accounting department, at our workplace. Our boss, the authorized signatory Eberhard Groschke was on break. Despite having worked together for over 20 years, we are still on a first-name basis. But that doesn't mean we don't talk about trustworthy things. My dear colleague knows more about me than my mother, and we can tell each other anything. As long as the boss isn't in the office, of course. And she was right this time too. Where was Teddy Bear supposed to call? My house was bad because he didn't know that I lived alone. He didn't have my cell phone number. How could he? There were no cell phones back then. He used to call me on my parents' landline to arrange to meet me. Mostly while he was still doing office work in the evening, and that was always on a Tuesday or Thursday from 6 p.m. I always had to stay at home and within reach of the phone, otherwise I would have missed his call and the chance to meet him. My mother knew about it, but my father was not allowed to answer the phone under any circumstances. It's hard to imagine today that there was a time when you didn't have your own phone number. And the only accessible one was firmly connected to the wall with a cord. How much of my life did I spend waiting for him to call? It could have been a few weeks in total. Sometimes he didn't call at all. Then I also spent my time wondering why he hadn't called. Was I making the same mistake again? Was I running blindly into my own misfortune? Was I strong and confident enough to ditch him again if things didn't go well? Would I be able to resist falling in love? Could I stop whenever I wanted to? It's a bit like smoking. If you go long enough without smoking, eventually you won't miss anything. But watch out! A single cigarette can drive you back into addiction. I speak from personal experience. This can probably also be applied to other addictions, such as alcoholism. And I would also classify love as an addiction. In any case, I resolved to be careful.

That same evening I found his cell phone number in the phone book under vehicle appraiser and expert graduate engineer Schatz. Should I or better not?

I find it difficult to make decisions unless one side clearly outweighs the other. On the one hand, I feared that I might develop strong feelings again that wouldn't make me happy in the long term. On the other hand, I felt an irrepressible longing for adventure, feelings and heart palpitations. I could send a text message, that would be harmless at first and I wouldn't have to talk to him straight away. First of all, I could carefully approach Mr. Schatz. That seemed like a good solution. I drank a glass of Prosecco and then typed into my cell phone:

"Do you actually experience withdrawal symptoms?"

I thought the question was great. Clear, but not unambiguous! I dialed send and my cell phone dutifully reported that the message had been sent. Now I had to wait and see. Less than a minute later it beeped:

"I know that. Who wants to know?"

Oh, I felt a stimulating tingling in my stomach. For the first time in a long time, I felt my heart beating faster and a strong adrenaline rush gave me a pleasant shiver. My life was exciting again! I didn't even know what that felt like anymore! I had left six years of wasteland behind me and now I was greeted by a blooming landscape full of attractions.

"I wonder who?" I wrote back spontaneously.

The penny must have dropped now, right? I winced when my cell phone rang. A call with a suppressed number! Oh God! It could only be HIM! And I was incapable of answering it. I sat there paralyzed and listened to the ringing until it stopped. My self-confidence is a faithless tomato and likes to abandon me in crucial situations.

The next morning, I received a message. I read the text to Roswitha in a trembling voice: