Being an unemployed couch potato for 2 months counting has seen me made an identation on my mother's favourite couch. Everday after plonking my perky butt on it for hours while channel surfing, i rise up to see a beautiful butt-made sinking hole in it. Probably right before I return to England, I should try to fluff it up a little or glue my dog onto it so mummy dearest will not have to tear her hair out when she sees it. I have made myself useful despite the draught period of loafing. Having stayed home most of the days when my friends are too busy working to come out to play with me, I have watched and watched almost all the programmes on Astro. I am awe by the creativity of Astro to repeat their shows over and over again. So if I miss the first half of CSI today, I can still catch it somewhat later and if I miss that hot hunk on Heroes, I can wait for the next replay. I was awe-struck until week 4. I have a short attention span. By then, my patience was wearing thin. I started to indulge in a new activity. Running. Come to think of it, that would've been an overstatement. I would say, I found skipping?
So there I was one day...one fine sunny day out in the Park doing my skip, hop, walk or whatever you like to call it as long as it doesnt involve pushing my heart beat to more than a 120 beats per minute.
So there I was one day...one fine sunny day out in the Park doing my skip, hop, walk or whatever you like to call it as long as it doesnt involve pushing my heart beat to more than a 120 beats per minute.
I was whistling along, looking, checking out potential victims to prey on, simply just enjoying my time of solitude when the Banker came striding along side me. 'Oh God, you scared the fuck out of me' was my opening line. Tactful and graceful. 'Oh God, I'm surprise to see you here!' was he retaliating line.
This lovely, Charming and witty conversation, reminiscent of Spencer Tracy and Katherine Hepburn's finer moments of verbal sparing, was cut short by the realisation that he was looking at me extremely oddly. I had become used to not meeting anyone good looking for my standard in the Park that I had forgotten there was a possibility of meeting a minority bunch of hot guys out there who would might chat me up in the Park and find my attire of a leggings and tutu an odd choice of walking/jogging/running attire. Oh well, it was too late to change now.
"Hello" I said brightly. "Have have you been?". I was determined to be more polite and to have a proper conversation with said potential victim. 'Fine. What about yourself? I haven't seen you since..." and he trailed off searching his brains for the date we last saw each other. "Ya, it has been awhile huh?" I replied, searching my brains too for when I last remembered him being so good looking. Then we started on a long catching up conversation. going up and down hills. exhausting ourselves physically and dehydrating every ounce of liquid in our body. I was most quiet when we climbed up the hills with me looking like a fish out of water struggling to breathe and catch my breath. I almost died halfway and yet he was still rambling about his life. Ignorant pretty face. At that moment, I mentally reminded myself to push him down the hill when we are going down later.
I tried so hard to focus on his chiselled features, but my vision was too blur from lack of oxygen in my brains. I blinked at him rapidly, much in the manner of an extremely shocked fish or an undercover spy who had to convey a National Security Message through morse code prior to imminent execution. I was also sweating profusely which made me look I just dived into an ocean and emerged sexily like those baywatch babes.
So after an hour of dragging uncooperative limbs up and down hill, I finally secured a date with the banker. Now I will have to look up the web for a plastic surgeon who can make me look like Kate Moss. No worries, pending I still have one day to go. Hopefully he won't take my for buffet and make me try and stuff every dish laid out otherwise I would just have to practice looking pretty when I throw up my food all over his face. Though in history it has never been reported of any such cases guaranteeing a second date or I could simply just opt to dress in a very sexy mermaid suit....either way, instinct tells me there will never be a second date with the banker.
This lovely, Charming and witty conversation, reminiscent of Spencer Tracy and Katherine Hepburn's finer moments of verbal sparing, was cut short by the realisation that he was looking at me extremely oddly. I had become used to not meeting anyone good looking for my standard in the Park that I had forgotten there was a possibility of meeting a minority bunch of hot guys out there who would might chat me up in the Park and find my attire of a leggings and tutu an odd choice of walking/jogging/running attire. Oh well, it was too late to change now.
"Hello" I said brightly. "Have have you been?". I was determined to be more polite and to have a proper conversation with said potential victim. 'Fine. What about yourself? I haven't seen you since..." and he trailed off searching his brains for the date we last saw each other. "Ya, it has been awhile huh?" I replied, searching my brains too for when I last remembered him being so good looking. Then we started on a long catching up conversation. going up and down hills. exhausting ourselves physically and dehydrating every ounce of liquid in our body. I was most quiet when we climbed up the hills with me looking like a fish out of water struggling to breathe and catch my breath. I almost died halfway and yet he was still rambling about his life. Ignorant pretty face. At that moment, I mentally reminded myself to push him down the hill when we are going down later.
I tried so hard to focus on his chiselled features, but my vision was too blur from lack of oxygen in my brains. I blinked at him rapidly, much in the manner of an extremely shocked fish or an undercover spy who had to convey a National Security Message through morse code prior to imminent execution. I was also sweating profusely which made me look I just dived into an ocean and emerged sexily like those baywatch babes.
So after an hour of dragging uncooperative limbs up and down hill, I finally secured a date with the banker. Now I will have to look up the web for a plastic surgeon who can make me look like Kate Moss. No worries, pending I still have one day to go. Hopefully he won't take my for buffet and make me try and stuff every dish laid out otherwise I would just have to practice looking pretty when I throw up my food all over his face. Though in history it has never been reported of any such cases guaranteeing a second date or I could simply just opt to dress in a very sexy mermaid suit....either way, instinct tells me there will never be a second date with the banker.
