After a week of feeling sorry for myself, I decide that there is only one thing for it: I have to see my best friend from school. Tara is v. cool, way cooler than I will ever be. And she's very helpful when I need advice, including how to get over being rejected by a guy who is possibly 'The One'. And she actually read my on-line novel, though she admits that Jenny's was better (but then any novel by an English major is always gonna be better than mine).
Tara and Pete, her newly-acquired fiancé, live near Southend, which is about 45 miles around the M25 and down Southend Arterial. Its a nice little jaunt and I intend to visit for lunch and maybe hang out for most of the afternoon. Gale force winds from the South coast try and push my little Ka upside-down as I'm hurtling down the motorway at 80mph. I can actually feel the car being rocked, and whoosing past lorries on the left, with the wind pushing on the right, is a real experience!
Anyway, we discuss my 'situation' - I like a bloke, he doesn't 'dig' me that way, I'm pretty distraught by it all, I'm assured that he probably isn't 'The One'... But what was funny was the conversation that followed my whole explanation of the events and my wallowing in self-pity.
Pete: "You're dressed as Shania Twain?"
Me: "Yeah."
Pete: "You danced like that?"
Me: "Yeah."
Pete: "And he doesn't stick his fucking tongue down your fucking throat?!"
Me: "Nope."
Pete: "He's a poof." (Pause) "I would have stuck my tongue down your throat."
I think I'm flattered.
Anyway, since weddings are on the agenda, this is pretty much all we talk about. We're discussing dresses, flowers, colour schemes... We're pouring over brochures, menus, bridal magazines... Guest lists are looked at and counted up. Menus are playfully argued over (apparently steak and chips are not on). Suddenly its 9pm and maybe I should get going...? It was amazing how time just flew by. I didn't realise. Mention weddings and that's it: women will talk about them all day.
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