I’ve never done this before. Coming over in the cab, my late Grandma’s voice was nagging. What if he’s a weirdo? What if he’s married? In my day, you didn’t just meet a man and go home with him.
Thanks, Grandma. These days, it’s this or the internet.
And it’s firmly a bachelor apartment. Most of the books look like props, unopened. Never read. But a couple show years of love and those might tell me who he is. Les Sept Femmes. Not one I know, but a quick google is enough. He reappears, grinning, as I grab my coat.
I’m delighted to be able to fit in a Friday Fiction story this week. It’s proving a crazy busy month – I was away for a while and now I’m back Sebastian is proportionately clingy; I’m running up to NaNoWriMo, which I am both participating in and helping to run (in Toronto); and I needed to find a bit of slack in the schedule. As a consequence, I expect the irregular posting to continue for at least the next 6 weeks, and I hope regular readers will be patient and stick around for my return. Thanks or your support!
Over at FF HQ, things are far more clockwork, Rochelle runs a tight ship and The Reclining Gentleman provides this week’s prompt. My story follows and your comments, as always, are invited.
We’re meeting on the pier, so I can’t “Dress nice” – Mum’s only piece of advice for snaring a boy – because I’m wearing my ugly, blue anorak so I don’t freeze or drown or in some other way die. And I didn’t spend hours on my hair, because if I wear a hat it’s ruined and if I don’t, it’s still ruined.
So I turn up looking like something the cat dragged in and I stand there trying to pick him out from the bird spotters, muggers and perverts. And right until he arrives, I almost wish he wouldn’t.
My story today (which has *Moderate Language Warning*) is below and as usual I’d love to hear what you think. I’m thick-skinned, so if there’s something you don’t like (or even nothing you do), never be afraid to say so. Thanks for reading!
Pushing through the fire escape, I felt like such a cliché. Face him, I told myself, Just say you’re not interested. But five disastrous dates this month, I’m done being polite. I’m done with dating. Can’t Mr Right just fall into my lap?
I texted Andy. Another one bites the dust. I know, Diary, you’re thinking: Will you just date Andy already? But you know I can’t. You know about Cyprus.
Soon I’ll be the only guy in London you haven’t rejected, the message came back. Then another: When that happens, I’ll propose 😉