Previously on the girl in the song....
I was on a high. I had gathered up enough courage to ask a man out, and while it wasn't a roaring success, I can take some solace in knowing that a coffee, sat across from this slightly unpolished and tumbled man of a man may be on the cards when I return from the far East in 4 weeks time. Wasn't the experience liberating? my friend asked. To be honest, it gave me a sense of achievement, but only nominally in that I could now tick off the "I asked a guy out for real" box on my list of cringe worthy events to come. Clambering over the barrier made the challenge itself seem diminutive in hindsight, especially since the act itself was less of a sweat-soaked, palm-clammy struggle than I had come to expect. I didn't feel the liberation of the soul talked of in legends and memoirs, but a slight anticlimax which raised my threshold for stimulus even higher.
I decided, amongst all things that "two days before my trip" required me to perform, to embed in my narrowing schedule some groundwork, and while I wish I could say for the task of "filling my suitcase", I'm referring yet again to the tenuous courtship I speak of above.
So I set about putting the second wheel of my plan into motion. I figured that four weeks was a long time for one to forget about another, so some sort of fade-proof stamping or etching onto one's memory to was in order. I decided to strike up a further conversation.
"Have you been to Beijing before?", he asked.
"I went a couple of years ago to watch the Olympics"
...
"and I lived there until I was 8 so I speak the language"
Perhaps I've been lucky and sheltered in the contacts with people I have made in life thus far, but never have these comments failed to generate at least a hint of interest or a curious remark. Nothing here but an upturned and sustained smile upon his face, like a moulded expression on a ventriloquist doll.
"I haven't even packed yet and I'm leaving tomorrow!" I continued. "My suitcase is almost full and I haven't taken half of my luggage yet!"
"you're taking a walking wardrobe with you then". He says. I chuckle and agree. A glimmer of hope... followed by a very steadfast silence.
"Are you going anywhere nice this year?", I asked.
"No not this year, I'm saving up for a car".
Finally, something we have in common, well sort of.
"I'm learning how to drive!"
After I make a few more animated comments about running people over with my car, and a reply from him about that being the best method for moving people out of the way, Silence himself, like a patient observer, crept back in to stand over me in mockery .
As my toolbox of wit and charm empties in front of me, I remind myself of one more trick up my sleeve (literally) which has never (since July 2010 when the incident occurred) failed to generate a gasp, a screech or a backward hop of some form or other. The Jelly Fish Sting. And trust me it is nasty. But when life strips you of all your weapons, you have no choice but to surrender with something more basic.
Maybe he's secretly blind and can't see, or maybe he's been caught up in cross-fire before and witnessed someone yank their own foot off in agony to leave a raw ending spewing blood; whatever circumstances his lens of life have presented him, there was barely a flutter in the reaction to the warm pink imprint of a sea creature tenaciously stitched into the skin on my wrist. The only sentence I managed to coax out of him with this elaborate contrivance was "You know what they say you are meant to do with a jellyfish sting...". My reply to that was of course witty and relevant, but with no further avail of establishing a fully fledged conversation.
Someone probably should have gagged me right there and dragged me away against my will, but I just don't like to be defeated, especially when I'd invested so much time and effort. Everyone likes to talk about themselves, and while I still shudder at this act of desperation, I went onto ask:
"What do you guys do behind there then?"
"Nothing much, go on the Internet, watch some football, send an email to Maintenance"
"You could read a book I guess"
"Nah, I don't really like reading books"
WOW. Who cares if you don't read or can't read, but unless this awkwardness isn't making you wanna wrench out your guts, you gotta give something, sometimes. Right?
I say my pleasantries and walk out without turning my head. But alas, it is pouring outside and I don't have an umbrella.
I was on a high. I had gathered up enough courage to ask a man out, and while it wasn't a roaring success, I can take some solace in knowing that a coffee, sat across from this slightly unpolished and tumbled man of a man may be on the cards when I return from the far East in 4 weeks time. Wasn't the experience liberating? my friend asked. To be honest, it gave me a sense of achievement, but only nominally in that I could now tick off the "I asked a guy out for real" box on my list of cringe worthy events to come. Clambering over the barrier made the challenge itself seem diminutive in hindsight, especially since the act itself was less of a sweat-soaked, palm-clammy struggle than I had come to expect. I didn't feel the liberation of the soul talked of in legends and memoirs, but a slight anticlimax which raised my threshold for stimulus even higher.
I decided, amongst all things that "two days before my trip" required me to perform, to embed in my narrowing schedule some groundwork, and while I wish I could say for the task of "filling my suitcase", I'm referring yet again to the tenuous courtship I speak of above.
So I set about putting the second wheel of my plan into motion. I figured that four weeks was a long time for one to forget about another, so some sort of fade-proof stamping or etching onto one's memory to was in order. I decided to strike up a further conversation.
"Have you been to Beijing before?", he asked.
"I went a couple of years ago to watch the Olympics"
...
"and I lived there until I was 8 so I speak the language"
Perhaps I've been lucky and sheltered in the contacts with people I have made in life thus far, but never have these comments failed to generate at least a hint of interest or a curious remark. Nothing here but an upturned and sustained smile upon his face, like a moulded expression on a ventriloquist doll.
"I haven't even packed yet and I'm leaving tomorrow!" I continued. "My suitcase is almost full and I haven't taken half of my luggage yet!"
"you're taking a walking wardrobe with you then". He says. I chuckle and agree. A glimmer of hope... followed by a very steadfast silence.
"Are you going anywhere nice this year?", I asked.
"No not this year, I'm saving up for a car".
Finally, something we have in common, well sort of.
"I'm learning how to drive!"
After I make a few more animated comments about running people over with my car, and a reply from him about that being the best method for moving people out of the way, Silence himself, like a patient observer, crept back in to stand over me in mockery .
As my toolbox of wit and charm empties in front of me, I remind myself of one more trick up my sleeve (literally) which has never (since July 2010 when the incident occurred) failed to generate a gasp, a screech or a backward hop of some form or other. The Jelly Fish Sting. And trust me it is nasty. But when life strips you of all your weapons, you have no choice but to surrender with something more basic.
Maybe he's secretly blind and can't see, or maybe he's been caught up in cross-fire before and witnessed someone yank their own foot off in agony to leave a raw ending spewing blood; whatever circumstances his lens of life have presented him, there was barely a flutter in the reaction to the warm pink imprint of a sea creature tenaciously stitched into the skin on my wrist. The only sentence I managed to coax out of him with this elaborate contrivance was "You know what they say you are meant to do with a jellyfish sting...". My reply to that was of course witty and relevant, but with no further avail of establishing a fully fledged conversation.
Someone probably should have gagged me right there and dragged me away against my will, but I just don't like to be defeated, especially when I'd invested so much time and effort. Everyone likes to talk about themselves, and while I still shudder at this act of desperation, I went onto ask:
"What do you guys do behind there then?"
"Nothing much, go on the Internet, watch some football, send an email to Maintenance"
"You could read a book I guess"
"Nah, I don't really like reading books"
WOW. Who cares if you don't read or can't read, but unless this awkwardness isn't making you wanna wrench out your guts, you gotta give something, sometimes. Right?
I say my pleasantries and walk out without turning my head. But alas, it is pouring outside and I don't have an umbrella.
