Considering changing course because there’s a hottie doing sculpture. It’s a draught out here. No hotties. Zilch, nada, rien. Nada de nada tia. So fucking rare. In an environment with a ratio of 10 females to 1 male. Killer instinct kicks in.
Oh and let me tell you – this bitch was thirsty – thinking she was the white missy elliot. This gyal was all about the oatly milkshakes, track pants and fur bucket hats. I chew my hot pink nails and consider buying a bucket hat. Maybe I got it all wrong, maybe not showing off your beautiful derriere in 50s style high waisted Armani jeans, is the way to go. I stick my ass out when I walk past the hottie hoping he’s staring at me.
But he can’t stop laughing at the bucket hat’s shit jokes.
If only I could get his number.
Track pants, bucket hats and flannel is the only way to get some dick in this town.
Where girls claw at each others throats to fuck greasy boys from bands, and hug random strangers cos its all peace out bro one love.
I look outside and its fucking raining again. I Google: “how to tell if someone is flirting with you”. One of the signs is that they ignore you. If the ignoring gets really intense then you know they’re in to you… or maybe they’re really not… hard to tell really. The article says its all about instinct. My instinct is telling me I need to set light to the bucket hat.
The article finishes with: remember, eye contact is key!
Well, I’ve been searing holes into the back of this guys skull for weeks… sashaying my fine backside for his eyes to see, as I prowl around the photocopier seductively, swishing my hair to the right, paper and ink have never looked so interesting.
Ah Photocopiers, the backdrop of many a sexscapades. It got to the point where I was just printing random pieces of text I found on google just so I had a reason to walk towards the photocopier.
Spent precious time and Moneys doing this routine, but hey, sometimes needs must. I find English boys hard. But then I’ve been spoilt – Spanish boys are too easy to read. You can smell the lust everywhere cos its just too hot to be outside so you might as well do something productive whilst your home bound in summer cos its too hot to go out in the day. Clutching ice packs and sipping Tinto de Verano, whilst whispering things like “I’m gonna eat you” into your lovers ear.
Perfectly timed with the hip roll to the left… honestly I choreograph my seduction techniques for YOU and Im just getting ignored. But the article says it’s a sign that he’s shy. So there you go.
Might as well throw myself from the third floor, maybe that’ll catch his attention. Like, I accidentally just happened to fall from the window ledge whilst gazing ecstatically at the amazing pigeons, gathering on the rooftop and shitting in unison. He lunges from the window to save me, grabs my arm all Hollywood sunsets, ripped biceps, sweat and tears.
But, this is England. Fucking great Britain they call it. The land that invented Ribena and slavery. I dated a 29 year old who couldn’t drink water unless he’d added squash.
