It’s strange how the most seemingly innocuous statement can end up being prophetic. One example I can think of is the episode of ‘The Simpsons’ where Homer captains a submarine. Homer’s reply to an order from Captain Tennille (a cheeky parody in itself) is a simple “It’s pronounced nuc-ular”. That was a couple of years before that unhinged Texan simian cheated his way into Pennsylvania Ave. But I digress. My feelings on the “Project for the New American Century” should be reserved for another time. Back to innocuous prophecy.
Last week, I was talking to a friend about temptation and indulgence. Yes, I was tempted by other girls while my girlfriend was overseas, but I never indulged in that temptation. I was tempted again at work a couple of days later, and it took all of my willpower to resist.
I had a visitor to chambers yesterday: my ex-girlfriend. There isn’t anything unusual in that. I’m a lawyer and she works as the sales co-ord. for the realtor opposite. We see one another about once a week because invariably one often has paperwork for the other.
Anyway, she glides in and sits on the couch by the window. I’m on the other side of the room, over at my filing cabinet looking for the form she wants. Then she has a bit of a teary sniffle. Turns out that she’s single again. The soliloquy went something like this.......
“Shit, you OK? What happened? No. Don’t answer that.”
Awkward pause as I retrieve the folder she’s looking for.
“Oh God, she’s gonna want me to say something. Geez Chris, you’re no good at this.”
Walk over to the couch, picking up the box of tissues on my desk.
“But what can I say that doesn’t sound as though I’m consoling her with my left hand and unzipping with my right?”
Right or wrong, I stay silent. All the while, I have an image of a guy dancing on a grave to “Entrance of the Gladiators” in my head. She broke up with me for one of my childhood friends, so to whom does she turn? Oh delicious irony, how I enjoy to supp from thee.
I return to my desk and the paperwork she interrupted. Seeing her on the couch brings back memories. Good memories. We had a habit of ... putting the couch to good use (outside core hours, of course) ... when we were together. She’s the type of girl who only has to smile, and you feel better. There’s something about her being all legs with blonde tresses, the most beautiful cerulean eyes, button-cute face, smoky voice and curves better than a Coke bottle.
The thing is, she knows the precise order of buttons to press and how hard. She knows that I like that shy kind of sexy. She knows that I like it slow. My head says “yes”, heart says “no”.
“She’s just sitting there, take her!”
“{insert her name}”
She looks up, eyes sparkling with expectation.
“Things’ll work out.”
She smiles timidly in an effort to conceal the disappointment in her face. It obviously wasn’t what she wanted to hear. Spurned, she struts over. It’s only as she stands directly over me that I draw myself to my full height (6’2”). She’s so close that I brush against her, our faces inches from each other. If sexual tension could be scaled 1 to 10, this little vignette would rate 12.
“God, Chris, you’ve done it now.”
My nostrils fill with her familiar, sweet, scent. I move my lips to speak but before I can, she pecks me gently on the cheek and turns for the door, folder in hand. She calls me a name only she knows and thanks me for the paperwork and my time.
If it were a boxing match, I hope I won on points. However, I probably lost on a technicality: I know I shouldn’t have but I watched her cross the road back to her office, from my upstairs window.
I don’t know if this is “to be continued” or not. It’s certainly not finished. Best to wait and see.
Last week, I was talking to a friend about temptation and indulgence. Yes, I was tempted by other girls while my girlfriend was overseas, but I never indulged in that temptation. I was tempted again at work a couple of days later, and it took all of my willpower to resist.
I had a visitor to chambers yesterday: my ex-girlfriend. There isn’t anything unusual in that. I’m a lawyer and she works as the sales co-ord. for the realtor opposite. We see one another about once a week because invariably one often has paperwork for the other.
Anyway, she glides in and sits on the couch by the window. I’m on the other side of the room, over at my filing cabinet looking for the form she wants. Then she has a bit of a teary sniffle. Turns out that she’s single again. The soliloquy went something like this.......
“Shit, you OK? What happened? No. Don’t answer that.”
Awkward pause as I retrieve the folder she’s looking for.
“Oh God, she’s gonna want me to say something. Geez Chris, you’re no good at this.”
Walk over to the couch, picking up the box of tissues on my desk.
“But what can I say that doesn’t sound as though I’m consoling her with my left hand and unzipping with my right?”
Right or wrong, I stay silent. All the while, I have an image of a guy dancing on a grave to “Entrance of the Gladiators” in my head. She broke up with me for one of my childhood friends, so to whom does she turn? Oh delicious irony, how I enjoy to supp from thee.
I return to my desk and the paperwork she interrupted. Seeing her on the couch brings back memories. Good memories. We had a habit of ... putting the couch to good use (outside core hours, of course) ... when we were together. She’s the type of girl who only has to smile, and you feel better. There’s something about her being all legs with blonde tresses, the most beautiful cerulean eyes, button-cute face, smoky voice and curves better than a Coke bottle.
The thing is, she knows the precise order of buttons to press and how hard. She knows that I like that shy kind of sexy. She knows that I like it slow. My head says “yes”, heart says “no”.
“She’s just sitting there, take her!”
“{insert her name}”
She looks up, eyes sparkling with expectation.
“Things’ll work out.”
She smiles timidly in an effort to conceal the disappointment in her face. It obviously wasn’t what she wanted to hear. Spurned, she struts over. It’s only as she stands directly over me that I draw myself to my full height (6’2”). She’s so close that I brush against her, our faces inches from each other. If sexual tension could be scaled 1 to 10, this little vignette would rate 12.
“God, Chris, you’ve done it now.”
My nostrils fill with her familiar, sweet, scent. I move my lips to speak but before I can, she pecks me gently on the cheek and turns for the door, folder in hand. She calls me a name only she knows and thanks me for the paperwork and my time.
If it were a boxing match, I hope I won on points. However, I probably lost on a technicality: I know I shouldn’t have but I watched her cross the road back to her office, from my upstairs window.
I don’t know if this is “to be continued” or not. It’s certainly not finished. Best to wait and see.