Happy Birthday!
After reading an item on My Mixed Company (it is purely coincidence that yet again Lynn has posted something that has inspired me to write) I composed this (and felt like sharing it here as well):
It so easily happens. Until a few months ago I thought mostly to other people not me.
The day after my forty first birthday, and a long time since any sort of liaison with anyone of the opposite sex. A long time since a guarded smile, a stolen look. Even a decent conversation.
My usual detour via the pub on the way home. The bar’s not crowded, as is the way for a Thursday (Ladies darts team night).
A couple of friends are looking after the cousin of a third friend. It was one of those almost throw away thoughts, but it occurs to me that she was not half bad looking (that’s about as close as I get to a complement). I didn’t think much else of it and set to with a pint.
I’m not sure when and how but some time later she and I are talking passing the time of day and comparing the quality of Guinness between here and Ireland. Guinness being my drink, and her being from Ireland. This is a fatal combination. I am always willing to throw caution to the wind when a woman talks to me with any stile of Irish accent. I just get that stupid gooey feeling inside and become putty in their hands (not a pleasant site at the best of times). In fact any non-English accent tends to attract me, but particularly the Irish.
Well one topic leads to another and one pint to the next and we have covered the fact that she is half my age (Oh my god!), but that doesn’t matter because she likes older men. Then to my surprise the conversation focuses on the size of her chest (a particularly fine example if I may say so).
Talking leads to kissing. I’m dragged into a dark corner for a sumptuous (spell checker wanted "scrumptious") fondle. Then all of a sudden she’s dragging me into the ladies toilet. Well it appears someone from the Ladies Darts Team complained about the noise, and it only took them forty five minutes to get us out of the cubicle (funnily enough my attention was elsewhere so I didn’t notice them knocking on the door).
They insist we walk back through the bar to a rapturous round of applause. My reputation goes in two directions "Up" for the majority of the men and "down" with the majority of the women.
I of course haven’t seen her since. Now I don’t tell this story from any Macho bravado but from the almost same feeling that you express the “oh is that it then?” I know exactly how you feel. Even as a bloke I feel slightly disappointed.
It so easily happens. Until a few months ago I thought mostly to other people not me.
The day after my forty first birthday, and a long time since any sort of liaison with anyone of the opposite sex. A long time since a guarded smile, a stolen look. Even a decent conversation.
My usual detour via the pub on the way home. The bar’s not crowded, as is the way for a Thursday (Ladies darts team night).
A couple of friends are looking after the cousin of a third friend. It was one of those almost throw away thoughts, but it occurs to me that she was not half bad looking (that’s about as close as I get to a complement). I didn’t think much else of it and set to with a pint.
I’m not sure when and how but some time later she and I are talking passing the time of day and comparing the quality of Guinness between here and Ireland. Guinness being my drink, and her being from Ireland. This is a fatal combination. I am always willing to throw caution to the wind when a woman talks to me with any stile of Irish accent. I just get that stupid gooey feeling inside and become putty in their hands (not a pleasant site at the best of times). In fact any non-English accent tends to attract me, but particularly the Irish.
Well one topic leads to another and one pint to the next and we have covered the fact that she is half my age (Oh my god!), but that doesn’t matter because she likes older men. Then to my surprise the conversation focuses on the size of her chest (a particularly fine example if I may say so).
Talking leads to kissing. I’m dragged into a dark corner for a sumptuous (spell checker wanted "scrumptious") fondle. Then all of a sudden she’s dragging me into the ladies toilet. Well it appears someone from the Ladies Darts Team complained about the noise, and it only took them forty five minutes to get us out of the cubicle (funnily enough my attention was elsewhere so I didn’t notice them knocking on the door).
They insist we walk back through the bar to a rapturous round of applause. My reputation goes in two directions "Up" for the majority of the men and "down" with the majority of the women.
I of course haven’t seen her since. Now I don’t tell this story from any Macho bravado but from the almost same feeling that you express the “oh is that it then?” I know exactly how you feel. Even as a bloke I feel slightly disappointed.
Technorati Tags: Humor, women, Obsession, Life Is Shite.
posted by meekon5 at 12:36
4 Comments:
Glad to see I was once again your inspiration. Very flattering! Thanks for keeping up with me.
A good story, but as you said it probably botched your chances with any women you're likely to chance upon in that pub from that point forward, eh?
Perhaps its time for a new pub...
Typical, the gods give with one hand and take away with the other.
Be glad you're not Hindu. You'd never sort out the transaction then.
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