So far, so good. Then I switch on my computer. I read a few e-mails, dally with the idea of paying a few bills and click over to CNN to catch up on the day’s news. Now, some people may not consider a mother cat nursing a baby squirrel to be news, but I am not some people, and I had to watch the news clip immediately.
I made it nearly half way through the clip before the waterworks started. It was not a sob fest by any means, but I did feel a tear forming in the corner of my eye. I put an immediate halt to it. Come on! Crying from cuteness is a vast improvement, but I must admit that melancholy seemed a much more respectable reason for tears.
I am off to bed now glad that I washed my Egyptian sheets and ironed them, yum yum. I am alone and loving it. Loving the fact that I can ignore all calls and concentrate fully on dessert and switch channels recklessly. The remote shall-be-mine! This, my dear friends, is a girl having fun, a touch of what is so right. No complications (The Times puzzle aside) – Mac n’cheese, pink fruity self-made cocktails, DVD piles on the sofa. I can see Maid in Manhattan peeping as if calling me to watch it for the umpteenth time.
I don’t keep away from boys (they prefer to call themselves men] for a long time though. I love this species. Truly there is nothing more fun at this point in my semi-single life. There are two kinds of guys.
The first kind hears that you have a boyfriend and lays off. He looks down at the floor and starts talking about his job. The second kind hears you have a boyfriend and comes on harder inspired by the challenge and thinking it’s his purpose on earth to show a girl what she is missing. That’s why I say that I have a boyfriend when I really don’t, to tell the one from the other.
When I get a boy I like, I twirl my hair with my finger and order liquor straight up. I mix in the occasional pink drink to remind him I’m a girl. I go to the bathroom a lot because what guy doesn’t think of you pulling down your panties when you go to the bathroom? The guys come out of the bathroom with their hands still wet. What’s their hurry? They worry that I’ll have second thoughts.
I talk more about my boyfriend and I can see it drives them crazy. They worry I’ll remember that faithful thing. They look me up and down and wonder how much I really get it from the boyfriend. They make me younger than I am. I am that girl they had a crush on in high school who had the thirty-year old boyfriend and everyone knew was bad news. Except now that these guys are twenty something they think they are old enough to save me. They say, “Hey, uh, you know, want to share a cab or something?” Well done that wasn’t so bad was it?