Bittersweet: Entry 3
Waarrgh! Third installment! Huh. Something went wrong in the posting. Everything is italicized! What the deuce? Hope readership can stand the nonstop flowery script, eh? Cheers!
Bittersweet
Or, Confessions of a Girl who met Super Junior
Hurrah! Am finally proud owner of gorgeous, furnished flat. V.satisfied with the wealth of movie posters and red pleather sofas. On downside, nothing goes together, but do not give flying pig’s bottie. Not even one.
Since first encounter, have begun to hang out with Hangeng and company regularly- no emotional fcukwittage involved. Is ace. For once, a successful platonic relationship with opposite sex! Also a tutor-tutee relationship into the bargain: am currently studying Korean under Kibum and Heechul, practicing Mandarin-Cantonese with Hangeng, and helping all three with English. Have already awed and astounded colleagues with rapidly improving Korean vocabulary!
In fact, everything really sensational right now. Am about to be transferred to a pharmacy in Korean-speaking district, proof that have really gone up in the pharmaceutical hierarchy. Also, am no longer penniless pauper nicking food from unsuspecting customers in cafes, and have finally left days of wearing mismatched travel clothes behind. Life could not get better.
Ah! There’s the door! Hangeng hinted earlier we’d be doing something fab tonight. Wonder what it is?
Later
Hate Hangeng and Co. Bloody bastards. Am going to give them what-for once I manage to walk in straight- oops.
Much, much later.
“You know,” I said slowly. “We pharmacists are a very…very talented lot. Just because we can’t dance, it doesn’t mean…”
“Yes, it does,” said Heechul sternly. “You are in the prime of your youth. You’re supposed to be hip! You’re supposed to be debonair. And frankly babe, you’re not succeeding at either. So we decided to stage an intervention. You have to become cooler if you want to continue hanging out with us, you know.”
Glared at him. “Says the man who can’t hold his liquor.” But Heechul pretended he couldn’t hear me above the din of the discotheque.
“Don’t be such a wet blanket, yeah? You can’t go clubbing and expect to have any fun if you plan to sit up with Heechul the whole time,” said Kibum as he plopped into the chair beside me, sweating terrifically.
“She’s something else, isn’t she?” said Heechul fuzzily. “Sodding pharmacists. I don’t know! They’re all hopelessly chicken. Think they’re above self-improvement and fowl and the lot.”
Spotting I had a clear shot of Heechul’s testicles, Kibum lunged over and poured brandy neatly into my mouth. “Let’s see if you dance any better like this,” he grinned, and pulled me onto the floor as Shim Eun Jin’s Oopsy came on.
Is a very strange feeling, inebriation. Did a lot of head-banging at first, until Kibum grabbed my hips and we began to grind frantically. Mmmmm. Think dancing makes Kibum horny. Hangeng and Heechul slinked over before long; Hangeng put all to shame with his super-dancing genius while Heechul made everyone else look good in comparison. Suspect is unspoken agreement that Heechul’s dancing incompetence never be acknowledged within our circle, so suppose will have to uphold silly tradition. But really. And he said I was a crap dancer.
Attempted to emulate Hangeng but only succeeded in making spectacle of self. By god, the boy can move. In end, resorted to writhing like a spazzy eel.
Was enjoying self immensely until what will go down in history as The Unfortunate Episode. Word to the wise: do not attempt clubbing when intoxicated. Body can get uppity.
For strange, confounding reason, suddenly found myself in Hangeng’s arms. Also v.v. illogically was realization that liked it there. A lot. Then found self slithering up to his face. From then onwards it was all very kiss-kiss bang-bang.
At the sound of a strangled cry we leapt apart like two long leaping things.
“Oh my god! Hangeng-oppa is being sexually harassed by that useless dancer! Quick, do our rescue formation!”
It was the We Heart Hangeng Brigade.
Glossary
Bottie: bum. The phrase 'I do not give a flying pig's bottie' is equivalent to 'I don't give a fig.' As in, 'I don't give a damn.'
Fuckwittage: term coined by the excellent Helen Fielding in Bridget Jones's Diary. A collective term for all the mental upset and torment involved in dating and relationships in general.
Nick: to steal
Fab: abbrev. of fabulous.
Bloody: mild expletive.
Debonair: synonymous with cool.
A wet blanket: killjoy. The death of the party.