What a hard life !
About your latest message from midday, you must know, Peter, that I DO understand your plight, you latin lover having to face the realities of sentimental life, and your (often opposed) desire not to hurt unwillingly the little ladies :
Of course, since your destiny is to attract ladies (it's not your fault, you were born like that) you attract them. But each of them likes you so much she'd like to keep you for her only. Poor thing and her unattainable dream : for what a waste for the woman world if a man like you were secluded for the sake of only two (even very) tender arms (the most beautiful girl having only ... as you know ... ).
And of course you, on your side, like all of them (at least many) and could not imagine not being allowed to wander, according to your fancy, in the green grazing lands of love.
The setting being put in such a way, things are bound to develop according to the unalterable process you know so well.
For this stubborn girl cannot imagine, in her mad desire, that she is not the most pleasant perfect half on earth, and as she becomes aware of the difficulty of her enterprise, she becomes also moody. And you, in the meantime, so gentle and sensitive and kind, you begin to think, deep in your wounded delicate tender heart : "Oh not again, I am going to hurt her, as usual, in a most savage way, how horrible I am, why am I like that ? God, tell me ".
And then, all of a sudden, it's done. The nice pretty thing, feeling rejected, transforms herself in a boiling pot of resentment.
First, she sulks, Peter stays silent under the brewing storm, aware of the tragedy coming. And then that's it : she dares unpleasant hints ( God, have mercy on me, mute Peter thinks, you know I can't stant it). Then, ulcerated by the guilty look of her lover (he doesn't even defend himself), she feels her spleen brimming over. Impossible to contain : suddenly you're not a gentleman any more, it's getting worse and worse. Mute Peter is bending under the flow of invectives. " Not again, it's as if my skin was being peeled off .. How disgusting I am. For God's sake, I wish I would die .."
But too late. She has gone, in a flurry of screams, iced looks or tears, according to her age and character.
Pfffwwwewww, Peter says, cautiously opening an eye, never again. I need some drink. He checks through the window that she has effectively gone. By the way, wouldn't there be a message from Helen ?
So, Peter, being understood in such a comprehensive way, I hope you're not afraid of me any more.
And forget about your stainless steel armour. You won't need it.
Your (still) little Amarula