Read Online Dan Taylor Is Giving Up on Women by Neal Doran - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Neal Doran
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through a difficult emotional time. But hey, the upside was she was telling me about it.
My stomach got a jitter of excitement at the thought I might be the person she turned to at these times. It crossed my mind that I should let Rob and Hannah know what was going on — this fell into their responsibilities under our wager after all. But they had their own stuff to deal with, and I thought it’d be cool if, as they slaved away trying to find the right person for me, I could turn around and say, actually, I’ve got myself sorted, thanks. So let me buy you that dinner and let’s crack open the champagne and toast my gorgeous, interestingly angst-ridden, extraordinarily bendy, French girlfriend.
But just maybe I’m getting ahead of myself, I thought. It was eleven o’clock by the time I got home, meaning the message had come in thirty-five minutes ago. I had to reply quickly now to be sure the window of opportunity didn’t close.
You’re not stupid! Are you OK?
I hadn’t exactly managed to hone the one hundred and forty characters that’d solve all her problems and make her fall into my arms in one text, but I figured this would be just the start. An opening move in text chess, and I’m a grandmaster. I poured a big bowl of chocolate Shreddies®, made an oversized mug of tea, and switched on the
Cheers
marathon on the comedy channel as I settled down and waited for the next move. I felt the buzz through the arm of the sofa as my mobile vibrated and beeped to say I had a new message.
I am not OK and he’s a bastard. And I AM Stupid
Yes! I thought to myself, we have a live situation here. Now I can make her feel better, and wow her with what a sympathetic young man I am. I muted the TV so I could concentrate on my replies without the benefit of the laughter of a live studio audience.
Right. All the thickoes I know are bilingual…
Within seconds of my reply going out, another message came right back in.
If I’m so smart how come I let him make me feel so unhappy? Why is it me always bending over on my back for him?
I think this was one of those times when an idiom hadn’t quite been mastered. But what if it was intentional? My fingers flew over a response.
Now there’s an image. ;-)
I hesitated slightly as I entered the characters for a winking emoticon, and my hand hovered over the send button. Was this what had become of me? Was I really a person who used little smiley faces in saucy texts? But what else could I do with a remark like that? An exclamation mark would have seemed too excitable, and just dots might have left it ambiguous on whether I thought it was a nice image. Did the text itself make me look like a seedy pervert? Maybe so, but the smiley bracket meant I was at least a friendly one.
I held my breath and sent the message — and that was why I loved the invention of the mobile phone. I couldn’t say something like that to someone in real life. Being mildly flirtatious never seemed to work so well if you had to repeat yourself because you were mumbling slightly, and were blushing uncontrollably because you’d paid someone a compliment. God forbid, they might actually think that you ‘like’ them.
Minutes passed, and I watched the silent TV as I fretted. Sam Malone, the bar owner, was chatting up twin collegestudents while the posh barmaid looked on despairingly at his behaviour. Had I gone too far? Been too tacky? Perhaps I should send another message, explaining that, despite the impression given by my comments, I wasn’t objectifying her by thinking about her in heels and lingerie leaning seductively over a giant bed like an
FHM
cover girl.
Although now, of course, I was.
On the TV, Sam returned to the bar to collect drinks for the two young women and was being looked upon with awe by Norm and Cliff the postman from their usual barstools. A wink and a wisecrack and he was back to the table with the early eighties’ hotties, while I was left waiting with a mildly suggestive text
My stomach got a jitter of excitement at the thought I might be the person she turned to at these times. It crossed my mind that I should let Rob and Hannah know what was going on — this fell into their responsibilities under our wager after all. But they had their own stuff to deal with, and I thought it’d be cool if, as they slaved away trying to find the right person for me, I could turn around and say, actually, I’ve got myself sorted, thanks. So let me buy you that dinner and let’s crack open the champagne and toast my gorgeous, interestingly angst-ridden, extraordinarily bendy, French girlfriend.
But just maybe I’m getting ahead of myself, I thought. It was eleven o’clock by the time I got home, meaning the message had come in thirty-five minutes ago. I had to reply quickly now to be sure the window of opportunity didn’t close.
You’re not stupid! Are you OK?
I hadn’t exactly managed to hone the one hundred and forty characters that’d solve all her problems and make her fall into my arms in one text, but I figured this would be just the start. An opening move in text chess, and I’m a grandmaster. I poured a big bowl of chocolate Shreddies®, made an oversized mug of tea, and switched on the
Cheers
marathon on the comedy channel as I settled down and waited for the next move. I felt the buzz through the arm of the sofa as my mobile vibrated and beeped to say I had a new message.
I am not OK and he’s a bastard. And I AM Stupid
Yes! I thought to myself, we have a live situation here. Now I can make her feel better, and wow her with what a sympathetic young man I am. I muted the TV so I could concentrate on my replies without the benefit of the laughter of a live studio audience.
Right. All the thickoes I know are bilingual…
Within seconds of my reply going out, another message came right back in.
If I’m so smart how come I let him make me feel so unhappy? Why is it me always bending over on my back for him?
I think this was one of those times when an idiom hadn’t quite been mastered. But what if it was intentional? My fingers flew over a response.
Now there’s an image. ;-)
I hesitated slightly as I entered the characters for a winking emoticon, and my hand hovered over the send button. Was this what had become of me? Was I really a person who used little smiley faces in saucy texts? But what else could I do with a remark like that? An exclamation mark would have seemed too excitable, and just dots might have left it ambiguous on whether I thought it was a nice image. Did the text itself make me look like a seedy pervert? Maybe so, but the smiley bracket meant I was at least a friendly one.
I held my breath and sent the message — and that was why I loved the invention of the mobile phone. I couldn’t say something like that to someone in real life. Being mildly flirtatious never seemed to work so well if you had to repeat yourself because you were mumbling slightly, and were blushing uncontrollably because you’d paid someone a compliment. God forbid, they might actually think that you ‘like’ them.
Minutes passed, and I watched the silent TV as I fretted. Sam Malone, the bar owner, was chatting up twin collegestudents while the posh barmaid looked on despairingly at his behaviour. Had I gone too far? Been too tacky? Perhaps I should send another message, explaining that, despite the impression given by my comments, I wasn’t objectifying her by thinking about her in heels and lingerie leaning seductively over a giant bed like an
FHM
cover girl.
Although now, of course, I was.
On the TV, Sam returned to the bar to collect drinks for the two young women and was being looked upon with awe by Norm and Cliff the postman from their usual barstools. A wink and a wisecrack and he was back to the table with the early eighties’ hotties, while I was left waiting with a mildly suggestive text
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