August 31, 2011 § 16 Comments
I didn’t sleep with the kidnap negotiator.
Big gathering this weekend. All my female relations told me how good-looking he was and how charming and what was my problem. I couldn’t explain except to say there wasn’t the spark, for me; I am sorry. You can’t manufacture these things, much as you might like to.
Then all my female relations spoke to him and the on dit was with me. They agreed, as they might in a witches’ coven, that, yikes, it was true, he did just rather lack a certain sex appeal; hard to explain but they could see what I meant. One of my closest female relations (not my mother; my generation) believes you have to meet a man three times before you write him off. Wise woman. She hadn’t been sure that she fancied her new boyfriend when she first met him and now he makes her stomach go flip and he is fast becoming the best relationship she has ever had. These things don’t always start with a coup, and I know she is right about this.
I have now met the lovely KN four times and still my stomach doesn’t go flip. Why the fuck not? But I can’t force it.
Shameful admission: it did go a little bit flip instead for a brilliant cad and bounder who I have known and loved all my life and who is hilarious and impossible and sexy though aging and balding and has every habit going and is wonderful and hopeless and not to be touched with a barge-pole, and might have made a pass at me (I couldn’t quite tell; perhaps I dreamed it that night?), but anyway should be avoided at all costs. He is the very last thing a plankton needs.
I am back. I am home. I am with you again, and fully intending to focus on work, and in idle moments on Smidgen and/or Long Shot.
School starts in a few days and I am full of (sensible) hope of which Impossible Cad is not a part.
Or if he is, may you lovely loyal hitters all rap me on the knuckles simultaneously.