Really, truly, seriously, dim. So dim, that it seems that she is unable to realise that anyone might, just, fancy her and have fancied her for, oh, somewhere between six and thirteen years, without being bludgeoned round the head with a compliment about her eyes with reference to their presence in seminars shared thirteen years ago via email late one Monday night. Insert commas as required. I am too giggly to make sense. It seems that, oh, four of my friends (including Jo) had twigged this from various things I had said while I was being merrily oblivious. I do wonder, sometimes, what exactly goes on in my brain. Possibly a degree of "oh, but he never would fancy me" and therefore it couldn't possibly be true. I was sitting with E, K & H (no linking to the ones with blogs, as I'm trying to post via email and that is just one complication too far), drinking kir royale, on Tuesday evening, and it all came tumbling out. To the point where I started being giggly and mentioned the aforementioned gentleman's name, and E more-or-less finished my sentence for me, when I'd got as far as "P..." with "wants you". (at which point, I realise this post is sounding like an alphabet) He and I are going to go and see Terry Gilliam's production of Faust next week. I cannot wait. My inner nineteen year old is fundamentally overexcited, because, oh, the hopeless crush I had back then. Meanwhile, if you'll excuse me, there are databases requiring my attention. But I just had to share. Doubtless, this will jinx everything if there is anything jinxable. On the other hand, I like to think that, if things are supposed to happen, they will, regardless of whether I squee or no? 'zactly. xxx
ETA: According to my Mummy, at least 10 years "Oh, yes, P. You know you wowed him in that suit of yours when you graduated. He said that you looked amazing, and his eyes nearly popped out of his head."
Pass me the big foam cluebat, and a TARDIS.
Recent Comments