Diane serves in the French deli around the corner.
Diane is a dancer.
Diane is about five foot nine.
Just tall enough to stand out as tall, but not so much so that she towers above everyone.
Diane wheres flats (as she calls them), little pumps as I call them.
Diane wheres skirts, almost all the time, in fact I don’t remember seeing her in jeans or trousers.
Diane smiles at me and says my name in a way that makes me melt.
Diane has probably barely noticed me, beyond remembering my name.
Diane has captured my sad and purposeless heart.
Oh Diane, I don’t really eat all those croissants!
I don’t really drink Badoit over priced water.
I don’t really have a clue about pate, cognac, macaroons or chilli relish.
Diane, I just come in to say hello to you.
I haven’t seen Sandy all week.
How the hell are you supposed to just bump into people?
I don’t want to Facebook her as it seems a bit nerdish and the last thing I want is for her to think that I’m an idiot before I start.
Instead of being nervous about what I’m going to say, and how I’ll hold off from having too many drinks, I’m now nervous about whether or not I’m going to see her at all.
She’s usually in the Fighting Cocks at the weekends with her friend Sarah and so I’ll make sure that the lads go there too. I don’t know whether to tell them that I want to see her or not.
On the one hand they will take the piss something rotten, but on the other that very fact might stop me from chickening out of talking to Sandy.
My parents had it so easy – they were girlfriend and boyfriend from the very start of what was then their grammar school. Dad claims that he’s inexperienced as a consequence, but they seem to be really happy together still, and they haven’t wasted all their money on divorce either.
It’s all down to tonight (well, then tomorrow night if I don’t see her this time).
Please tell me what to do someone? I have my spray ready. It doesn’t smell bad either – I’d love to know if it’ll help, but it won’t help me stop being a dork!
I need to know.
For ages I have read about pheromone sprays and I love the idea that there really does exist a smell that will drive women (well, girls, I’ll be nervous of anyone who is much older than me) wild with desire for me.
It makes sense doesn’t it? If its of animals are attracted to each other when they are ready largely due to their changing scent, then I can believe that pheromones will work for people too.
Several of the lads swear that they work for them, and Shaun sent me a link to this place that sells Tempt Pheromone Spray online (they sell all sorts of other interesting stuff too). I was surprised to see that you can even buy different sprays depending on whether you’re a man after a woman, or a man after a man, and likewise for the girls. Oh what a sweet and innocent life I’ve led!
Ha! It would make the lads laugh if I bought the wrong one.
I’m going to go about this properly. There’s a girl I fancy called Sandy and I know she doesn’t mind me because she never makes to walk away when she sees me. I’m hoping that she’ll be out next weekend and I’ll have just done another wardrobe fitting job so I’ll have some spare cash. I’ll ask her to meet me in the Fighting Cocks and see if we can get chatting.
I need to be really careful to tread the fine line between having enough drink to be confident enough to chat away with her, but not too much that I end up making an idiot of myself. I’m not sure I’m capable of that – we’ll see! Anyway – 28th of February is firmly set in my mind as the day when I make my move – sounds great now, but I’ll be nervous as hell!
It’s not that i have a downer on Valentines Day.
It’s just that I have a downer on not having a Valentine.
Well, I don’t even care about Valentines, I care about, well, you know, having a girlfriend.
As I’m getting a bit more money put away now I think that I should be able to act a bit more normally and have a girlfriend and the like, although as my mates keep telling me, it’s not the lack of money that matters -it’s the fact that I’m so darned pig ugly!
Hopefully that’s not actually the case, but I have to put up with some stick from all the loved up lads from school. One of them, let’s call him Barry, is still with the girl he lived next door to when he was five. I laugh at him for that, but actually it’s kind of sweet I guess.
Mum was asking me about girls the other day, and I hate talking about stuff like that with her, but she is really good at getting the facts out of me. She kept on saying that getting legless in night clubs was never going to help – I guess she still gets grief from dad from the couple of times that I came home smashed, but it hasn’t append in ages. I have the sense to not come home now when I’m a bit messed up. And after all I never do drugs or anything stupid like that, she shouldn’t worry so much about that.
So anyway, here we are on a Friday night, a couple of good jobs done this week, but all the boys are out being pathetic with their bloody girlfriends, even mum and dad have gone out to dinner. So I’m having a romantic bottle of wine – on my own.