Catherine Townsend: Sleeping Around

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The Independent Online

I had always thought I would love two men fighting over me. Until it happened, that is. My evening started at a Hedge Fund Fight Nite, a boxing event in aid of the charity Operation Smile. The room was full of City boys lacing up their gloves, and I was seated close enough to the ring to feel the blood spatters.

Long before charity bouts existed, men have been clubbing each other in front of women. Researchers recently learnt of early man's wooing technique after they found prehistoric remains in Germany that indicate men executed love rivals in order to steal women from neighbouring tribes.

Meanwhile, I'm fighting my own battles with men who seem to have an overabundance of testosterone. Liam has broken up with his girlfriend, and taken me on two dates. It's been amazing, but I've finally learnt my lesson about taking things slowly with men who seem too good to be true, despite my raging hormones. So I told him, sincerely, that I want us to take things slowly, and he now thinks I'm seeing someone else. I was starting to worry that his jealousy might be a bit irrational.

At the charity event, my favourite was a diminutive but totally fit boxer known to his friends as T-Bone. Afterwards, he invited me to join his friends for a drink at Movida. He may have lost the fight, but had impressive stamina, and a great sense of humour – not to mention a body like a work of art.

Instead, I met up with my friend Michael at a karaoke bar, while fending off texts from Liam asking where I was. Finally, I asked him to join us – and when he arrived, was unimpressed to see that I was with an all-male crowd.

"Mate, you seem a bit paranoid," Michael said. "What's the problem?" He was teasing, but Liam was enraged.

We started to get into a stupid argument about my male friends, and I pointed out that the only reason he was so freaked out was because he'd tried to cheat on his own girlfriend. That was when Liam shoved me backwards, and it all kicked off.

Suddenly, over the strains of "Sweet Child O' Mine", one of my closest friends and my new crush were rolling around on the floor. It wasn't exactly Ricky Hatton versus Lennox Lewis. And it wasn't sexy – just stupid, and scary.

I tried to step between them, and ended up hitting my head on the drink trolley. At that, they stopped fighting, and we got some ice for my eye. The wound was only superficial, but the damage to my budding relationship with Liam was done.

At the end of the day, the fighting spirit has to be balanced with courtesy and sportsmanship.

So T-Bone, if you're reading this, I wish that I'd taken up your invitation to Movida. And I can't believe that after a boxing match and bar fight, I was the only person to end up with a black eye.

www.independent.co.uk/sleepingaround

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