It is now mid April, and something has changed. I feel a magic in the air, and I know it's definitely there because 3 men said hello in the street and I looked like shit. The day after I received 2 offers of drinks, and the weekend before? Well...
I had just returned from Dubai where the beach seemed to be mainly littered with 'Arab Jersey Shore-alikes'. I would lie on the soft sand and people watch (my favourite activity) as they strolled up and down- their bulging biceps causing their arms to hang four inches away from their torso, sigh and then lower my head back to dropped dent in my towel.
A week of this, and I was back in London and dying to go out. The last few months had been difficult and as dry as The Sahara.
Upon my return, I called a good friend, and a plan was set in place. Sunday Night. Shoreditch.
We had planned dinner initially, and so I had kept myself waiting. In the end, it was a liquid dinner, and we all know that alcohol causes you to do some audacious things.
A few bar hops later, I found myself talking to a charming man. He wasn't my usual type, but was intelligent, nice and a gentleman. My friend had by this point sloped off with 'denim jacket guy'. Needless to say, that didn't end up quite as well, and she called to tell me about it while we were in the taxi on our way back to mine.
Stepping through the front door, it quickly became apparent that this guy was a freak and in a good way. I would have never been able to tell from his tweed jacket....
He took over, and my clothes we gone. I finally felt alive again.
He picked me up and carried me to the living room, and in a blur I could feel the thick, hard wood (no pun intended!) of the coffee table underneath me. After a whirlwind tour of my living room and kitchen, we were back in my bedroom, and both slowly drifted off to sleep.
The next morning, after a long conversation we both established that we knew the same person. In fact, they were very good friends. This person was the last man I had dated (you can read about him here), and he was the first guy who I had really felt something for in a while.
When Shoreditch Guy proclaimed that he'd seen him the previous weekend, and "does he have a girlfriend?....Uh yes, yes I think he does", I died a little bit inside, and immediately wanted him gone.
As he was on his way out, he left me with the promise that he'd take me to a little pub in Chelsea (In fact, the same pub I had gone to with his friend for our first date, although he didn't know it). I smiled, knowing it would never happen.
2 days later I received an invite to said pub. Needless to say- I declined.
I had just returned from Dubai where the beach seemed to be mainly littered with 'Arab Jersey Shore-alikes'. I would lie on the soft sand and people watch (my favourite activity) as they strolled up and down- their bulging biceps causing their arms to hang four inches away from their torso, sigh and then lower my head back to dropped dent in my towel.
A week of this, and I was back in London and dying to go out. The last few months had been difficult and as dry as The Sahara.
Upon my return, I called a good friend, and a plan was set in place. Sunday Night. Shoreditch.
We had planned dinner initially, and so I had kept myself waiting. In the end, it was a liquid dinner, and we all know that alcohol causes you to do some audacious things.
A few bar hops later, I found myself talking to a charming man. He wasn't my usual type, but was intelligent, nice and a gentleman. My friend had by this point sloped off with 'denim jacket guy'. Needless to say, that didn't end up quite as well, and she called to tell me about it while we were in the taxi on our way back to mine.
Stepping through the front door, it quickly became apparent that this guy was a freak and in a good way. I would have never been able to tell from his tweed jacket....
He took over, and my clothes we gone. I finally felt alive again.
He picked me up and carried me to the living room, and in a blur I could feel the thick, hard wood (no pun intended!) of the coffee table underneath me. After a whirlwind tour of my living room and kitchen, we were back in my bedroom, and both slowly drifted off to sleep.
The next morning, after a long conversation we both established that we knew the same person. In fact, they were very good friends. This person was the last man I had dated (you can read about him here), and he was the first guy who I had really felt something for in a while.
When Shoreditch Guy proclaimed that he'd seen him the previous weekend, and "does he have a girlfriend?....Uh yes, yes I think he does", I died a little bit inside, and immediately wanted him gone.
As he was on his way out, he left me with the promise that he'd take me to a little pub in Chelsea (In fact, the same pub I had gone to with his friend for our first date, although he didn't know it). I smiled, knowing it would never happen.
2 days later I received an invite to said pub. Needless to say- I declined.
