to say nothing of the dog
My friend and I made a breakfast date.
a-doll: i'll bring the cheese and crackers, you bring the wine
me: but who'll bring the bulldog?!
a-doll: he'll bring himself if he knows what's good for him
I'm so glad I have friends who understand the need for Cyril bulldogs at breakfast.
Last week I went to my first rugby match ever. This is more of an achievement than it sounds, given that my brother plays it and my dad coaches it and it's kind of a national obsession. I was heartily amused, especially by the Dirty Dancing moves. (Dad called it a line-out; at least I think he did - he was kind of choking at the time.) And - the places they stick their hands! The sitting-on of faces! Gayest thing since porn, seriously.
But that's not the point of my story. I got a lift (in America you call this 'getting a ride', hey? That's so dirty) with my friend - let's call her Em - and her boyfriend - let's call him ... Mr Ice-Cream Man. Because he looks like what would happen if you dropped a strawberry ice-cream cone and turned it into a person.
On the trip home, during a lull in the conversation, Mr Ice-Cream Man suddenly pipes up.
mr ice-cream man: Rachel, what perfume are you wearing? It's lovely. I can smell it from here.
me: *flails silently and mentally* Oh, um. Um. Hypnose, I think? Um. (It was Ange ou Demon, actually, but whatever. Good thing I lied anyway, as it turned out.)
em: Mr ice-cream man'll remember that so he can buy it. Then I can smell like Rachel!
me: And Rachel's mom, because she wears it too.
What.
Does anyone else think that entire exchange was just - weird?
My mother did, mainly because I whine to her about Mr Ice-Cream Man a lot. He'd totally be a sleazebag if he weren't, you know, an ice-cream man. Once Em told me that Mr Ice-Cream Man tells her so often that I'm pretty that she's starting to get jealous. And she giggled. Again: what.
My awesome friend said Em's reply was weirder than Mr Ice-Cream Man's comment. A-doll said I shouldn't get so freaked out by compliments, but I suppose I just have an inherent distrust of flattery. Particularly when it's directed at me.
Thoughts?
a-doll: i'll bring the cheese and crackers, you bring the wine
me: but who'll bring the bulldog?!
a-doll: he'll bring himself if he knows what's good for him
I'm so glad I have friends who understand the need for Cyril bulldogs at breakfast.
Last week I went to my first rugby match ever. This is more of an achievement than it sounds, given that my brother plays it and my dad coaches it and it's kind of a national obsession. I was heartily amused, especially by the Dirty Dancing moves. (Dad called it a line-out; at least I think he did - he was kind of choking at the time.) And - the places they stick their hands! The sitting-on of faces! Gayest thing since porn, seriously.
But that's not the point of my story. I got a lift (in America you call this 'getting a ride', hey? That's so dirty) with my friend - let's call her Em - and her boyfriend - let's call him ... Mr Ice-Cream Man. Because he looks like what would happen if you dropped a strawberry ice-cream cone and turned it into a person.
On the trip home, during a lull in the conversation, Mr Ice-Cream Man suddenly pipes up.
mr ice-cream man: Rachel, what perfume are you wearing? It's lovely. I can smell it from here.
me: *flails silently and mentally* Oh, um. Um. Hypnose, I think? Um. (It was Ange ou Demon, actually, but whatever. Good thing I lied anyway, as it turned out.)
em: Mr ice-cream man'll remember that so he can buy it. Then I can smell like Rachel!
me: And Rachel's mom, because she wears it too.
What.
Does anyone else think that entire exchange was just - weird?
My mother did, mainly because I whine to her about Mr Ice-Cream Man a lot. He'd totally be a sleazebag if he weren't, you know, an ice-cream man. Once Em told me that Mr Ice-Cream Man tells her so often that I'm pretty that she's starting to get jealous. And she giggled. Again: what.
My awesome friend said Em's reply was weirder than Mr Ice-Cream Man's comment. A-doll said I shouldn't get so freaked out by compliments, but I suppose I just have an inherent distrust of flattery. Particularly when it's directed at me.
Thoughts?