Friendly

I never enjoy doing the domestic bit quite as much as when I’m doing it for someone else. Today I spent most of the evening (between this piece of work and that) cleaning the flat from top to bottom – including the loathsome, to me at least, task of scrubbing the floors. All in anticipation of the Academic’s arrival on Friday.

And in celebration of the calorie burning feat I had a salad for dinner, though I took the shine off that with a lurvely Australian Viognier yum yum yum.

I may yet have to manage the Academic’s expectations of Chez Moi; possibly with mood lighting but certainly with other distractions… though he is a filthy beast, gentle reader (leather, poppers, porn, bondage, threesomes, masks – I only go so far with these things myself, so it can be hard to keep up. Or not, pardon the pun ;-) )

Is he, then, after four dates and some serious bruising boyfriend material? Well, try as I might there’s nothing not to like about him so let’s see how it goes. In the meantime I have a hard-won second date with Captain Thursday, next Thursday – though getting it was like pulling teeth. So much so it’s quite taken the joy out of it for me, though I like a challenge and will put on my most seductive eyelash fluttering poses; Hogzilla in voluptuary guise. Mr Saturday sadly does not want a second date, fool that he is. I may demand that he introduces me to all his single gay friends as compensation.

Truth be told his “let’s just be friends” bit did annoy me somewhat. While I am today much better than ever at finding men I like, the subsequent knock-back becomes ever harder to bear. I try to turn my face to the sun, but my friends are generally encouraging me to take the much-delayed man-detox I’ve been promising myself. I think they’re right.

Speaking of friends; a very recently acquired ‘gay’ friend (I probably should stop classifying friends according to their sexuality) has invited me to be his running partner which is absolutely ideal given my quiet inability to shift further weight – next week the programme of wheezing and spluttering should begin in earnest!

And to end, an idea!! I read an article in one of London’s many, many free papers about a guy who handed a woman whom he saw on a train - and he liked the look of, - a note telling her how attractive found her (but without contact details etc – just a nice note). I’m really taken with the idea, and the story really cheered me. So on the basis that there’s no harm in spreading a little sunshine about, I might just steal it. Postsecret-Plus, let us call it. A new hobby, perhaps. A bit of fun; a speedy route to a black eye. High jinks!