'I thought I was dating a famous celebrity. Then I looked in the newspaper.'

As told to Ann DeGrey.

It was a time in my life when I felt painfully lonely . All of my friends had coupled up, and the best I'd managed was a three-month relationship that ended with the guy going back to his ex, who just happened to be a swimsuit model.

For reasons I'll never understand, several people thought it was appropriate (even funny) to send me photos of her (some topless) just to rub salt in the wound. Was that really necessary?

I think I started ghosting so-called friends long before the word became part of everyday language.

One Friday night, my friends decided we needed a "girls' night", but it ended up being anything but. We were pretty much the only women in the pub, and it just so happened that a few members of a popular football team were also in the area. Before long, they'd wandered in too.

My friend Suzy* leaned in and whispered, eyes wide, "OMG, that's The Rocket."

That was the nickname of one of the most well-known players on the team, a fast-talking, fast-moving forward with a reputation both on and off the field.

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We were a couple of cocktails in when one of my friends nudged me and said, "The Rocket keeps looking at you. Jeez, it must be tough being a tall blonde." I laughed it off, but when I turned around to glance at him, we made eye contact; and apparently, that was all the encouragement he needed. He looked at me like I'd just declared undying love.

He was incredibly attractive, but I'd always been shy around men and the absolute last guy I'd go for was a famous footy player known more for his off-field antics than his on-field stats. Give me an introverted tech geek, and I'd be happy (and yes, that's exactly the kind of man I ended up with; praise be!).

Anyway, I went up to the bar to get another round, and that's when The Rocket made his move. He stepped beside me and said, "I couldn't help noticing you. Would it be okay if I got your number?"

"Sure," I replied, keeping it polite but casual. "That would be okay."

He told me he and his mates were heading off, but that he'd call me in the morning.

Ha, I thought. As if. No way this playboy is actually going to call. He's probably headed to a nightclub right now, collecting phone numbers like drink tokens and forgetting all about me by sunrise.

You can imagine my shock when I woke up the next morning, turned on my phone, and saw a missed call, along with a voicemail: "This is The Rocket. Call me when you get a chance."

I couldn't believe it. He actually called. I told myself I'd wait until the afternoon to return the call—I didn't want to seem too eager. And honestly, by that stage, I was just thrilled that any man had picked up the phone and dialled my number.

Naturally, I rang my sister, who screamed down the line, "The Rocket called you?!" Within hours, she'd told everyone, including my parents, who were almost as excited as she was.

Then I told my friends. More shrieks. "Being with The Rocket would be the sweetest revenge for your ex dumping you for that model," one said.

By late afternoon, I called him back. No answer. So I sent a text: "Thanks for the call. I'm around if you'd like to chat."

Two days went by. Nothing. "He's probably just busy," I told myself, trying to stay upbeat. You have to remember, by this point, my friends and family were already half-planning a celebrity wedding.

Another four days passed. I sent one more message. Still no reply. Now I was just deflated. Why had he even bothered to call in the first place? I started blaming myself for not having my phone on earlier. Maybe I'd missed my one window.

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Maybe I'd seemed disinterested. And then, out of the blue, my friend Dee called. "You need to look at the paper," she said.

There he was. The Rocket. Arm wrapped around a pretty brunette in a white sundress. And the headline? 'The Rocket Announces Engagement.'

Engaged! So at the time he'd asked for my number, he was already planning a proposal. I hadn't even known he was seeing anyone. Of course, I became very popular in the group chat that day, mostly people laughing at my expense, but that was okay because I thought it was funny too….almost!

I'm still not entirely sure what the lesson in all of this was, other than the fact that it's made for a great story to tell over the years. My almost romance with a famous footy player has been retold at countless dinners and girls' nights.

Looking back, I definitely dodged a bullet. And, if I'm being petty for a moment, let's just say a recent Google image search confirms he hasn't exactly aged like fine wine. Still, as ridiculous as it all was, it gave me something I really needed at the time – a boost.

A reminder that I was attractive, still interesting, and still very much in the game.

Even if The Rocket never actually got off the ground.

Feature Image: Getty. (Stock image for illustrative purposes).