Go On, Say It…

Yes, well, turns out you all know me far too well…

Of course the Iron Knickers didn’t work. I mean, have you seen this guy? Okay, so you haven’t, but you have to believe me when I say he’s one of the most attractive men I’ve ever known in real life. And on Friday night he was playing the bass*. My resolve didn’t stand an effing chance.

So here’s what happened; Nora and I toddled off to the gig – she looked very cool and like she belonged, I, as per usual, looked like Hair the Musical had thrown up on a corporate whore – and thankfully they had already started when we arrived. We sat down (Nora with a root beer, me with a very generous double vodka) and picked the world to pieces against the backdrop of super cool jazz tunes.

Every note on that bass sent my ladyplace into spasms, I’m not gonna lie.

He trotted over at the interval (do cool jazz people call them intervals?) and made small talk for 20 minutes or so until he had to go pluck a g-string again.

Nora found the conversation hilarious, especially as I proceeded to die in the corner of an overly large sofa once he’d started playing again.

‘It’s so cute! He’s all nervous around you!’ I could tell she was basically planning our wedding. I fought the urge to slap her.

And then, she LEFT ME.

So what followed is essentially Nora’s fault.

I did actually manage it at first – we talked, and drank, and then I left. And then I got home (conveniently 5 minutes down the road) and realised my keys were not in my pocket. I called him, he found them, he brought them to my house, he came in for coffee, then stayed for wine…

Well I couldn’t have him driving home drunk now, could I?

I did try to have the ‘I don’t think we should sleep together this time’ conversation, but since we were already naked by that point, it was laughed out of the bedroom.

Not gonna lie – it was bloody brilliant as per.

I’m just not sure what happens next.

RitziCx

*Interesting Fact: my college boyfriend played the bass. Bass players have very dextrous fingers. Enough said.