Journey through space to the Planet Fabulous, where the Ruler of the Universe will see you shortly.

Wednesday, May 28, 2008

Are You Being Served..?

I think there's a man at work who's flirting with me.

I know! How delicious. The thing is, I can't be sure. As I've probably said before I'm absolutely hopeless at flirting, being flirted with, and anything of that general fan-fluttering oeuvre. Well, apart from actual fan-fluttering, naturally, and I can coquettishly bop a fly on the nose at forty paces. It's all in the breeding.. and the wrist, of course. Oh my wrist action has brought many a man to his knees in my time - and brought a man to conclusion in many an alley at the back of Burger King, for that matter. I like it there - the free napkins are convenient, if you get my drift.

I'm going waaaay off the point, aren't I? This man. He works in the BBC canteen, that hotbed of plastic cutlery and limp lettuce, and was that general kind of chatty with me that I engage with most functionaries I see on a daily basis (minimum dialog, no eye contact, wondering if their kidney is for sale and a match for my own) when he had the impertinence to ask me what I was doing on the weekend. I brazenly said I was going on a date. With a nice gentleman.

I have to say, ever since then he's been very attentive, and I hate to say the words 'extra portions', but I sense he may be trying to slip me some meat between my floury baps on a few occasions. I think. Like I say, I am terrible at recognizing the signs - oh, he's definitely more talkative since he's found out I 'Can't Catch', and yet he says he's just come out of a seven-year relationship with a girl. Maybe this means he's craving the delights of the Other Bus, maybe I'm just reading the whole thing wrong. I really have no idea. Which clearly adds to the fun!

And do you know, I wasn't even sure I even fancied him anyway! Him and his thick fingers, his flinty eyes, and his deep voice. He's the kind of man I can imagining sidling up to tipsy girls in nightclubs and offering to buy them a drink in that thick, Eastern European accent of his, and maybe you've got a fifty-fifty chance of there being date-rape in there. And yet, as I chat to him as he's forking my Lean Cuisine onto my waterspotted plate with a wonky smile on his face, I realised I wanted to be that girl.

Thank heavens I'm in a relationship. One of the best things about them is it takes decisions like this out of your hands. But while it goes on, I'm not going to be turning down the attention. Even if he does try and pronounce 'Spotted Dick' in a sexy way, bless him.


Kezza said...

A fifty persent chance of being date-raped? I'd take those odds for sure!

He sounds like quite a delight from your description. He could label out steaming hot bowls of bisque all night if he wanted, provided of course he has the stamina.

Sadly though there is nothing that can make 'spotted dick' sound sexy, but I wouldn't detract too many points for that.

Anyway, now that you've reminded me, I must be off... I'm suddenly craving something off the menu at Burger King

Frank said...

It must be your fuschia hair and constant talk of "my pussy" that attracts him.

Kezza said...

Oh my freaking Lord, could I be any more retarded? Okay I meant percent, not persent and ladel not label. Oh, fuck me... I'm taking my bat and ball and going home.

I'm too afraid to read on in case I find any more mistakes. Please forgive my rampant stupidity and lack of proof reading.

Paul said...

Oh, don't flatter yourself honey. He does the exact same thing to me. x