Entirely Innocent People Part 1
I realise that I am actually looking around me for something that could be used as an offensive weapon. This cannot be good.
I am In The Pub. I have a twenty-minute window between underground-mini-train-thing that stinks of piss and poorly maintained bus that stinks of unwashed-humanity in general. Of course, the sensible thing for me to do is spend this time in a hideous bar full of buffoons braying about the ‘big accounts they will land next week’ (it’s always next week) and that stinks of fag smoke, booze and a barely-disguised sense of worthlessness.
But not these two. They are in a world of their own. There seems to be a halo of innocence and hope around them.
Young. Early twenties, quite well turned out. My God, they only have eyes for each other these two. The rest of the world need not exist, because this boy and this girl are drowning in The Wonder of Each Other. It’s So Amazing, their wide eyes seem to be saying to each other. We even think the same.
They giggle now and then and when they do, they do that not-really-innocuous-it-doesn’t-really-mean-anything touching. You know, briefly touching a forearm in an oh-stop-you-are-so-funny manner. Or letting your hand fall onto someone else’s ‘accidentally’ and pretending to be a bit embarrassed about it.
Christ.
But I can’t look away.
She asks him something. He makes a face.
She then gives him that up-from-under sad girl face. Her mouth even does that upside-down smile thing. Oooh. I only a ickle gurl.
He sighs, and with mock-weariness begins trudging to the bar, shaking his head as if to say ‘oh the things I do’.
When he’s out of sight, she allows herself a small contented smile. Whatever it was, she didn’t really want it. She wanted to see if he would get it for her.
He comes back. The conquering hero. Look. I have done a THING for you. You must remember this. Me being so great and cool and that.
He thinks to himself, We both know this is a bullshit ritual, but perhaps I may have a chance of touching her lady-parts.
She thinks to herself, Dear God, what a sap. Oh. But he did go and do it. Maybe I’ll ask my friends what they think. I wonder if he has a weird cock?
I’m still looking around. There are no spare housebricks. The ashtrays are of that flimsy tin variety designed to do no physical harm.
I finish my drink and leave.
I am In The Pub. I have a twenty-minute window between underground-mini-train-thing that stinks of piss and poorly maintained bus that stinks of unwashed-humanity in general. Of course, the sensible thing for me to do is spend this time in a hideous bar full of buffoons braying about the ‘big accounts they will land next week’ (it’s always next week) and that stinks of fag smoke, booze and a barely-disguised sense of worthlessness.
But not these two. They are in a world of their own. There seems to be a halo of innocence and hope around them.
Young. Early twenties, quite well turned out. My God, they only have eyes for each other these two. The rest of the world need not exist, because this boy and this girl are drowning in The Wonder of Each Other. It’s So Amazing, their wide eyes seem to be saying to each other. We even think the same.
They giggle now and then and when they do, they do that not-really-innocuous-it-doesn’t-really-mean-anything touching. You know, briefly touching a forearm in an oh-stop-you-are-so-funny manner. Or letting your hand fall onto someone else’s ‘accidentally’ and pretending to be a bit embarrassed about it.
Christ.
But I can’t look away.
She asks him something. He makes a face.
She then gives him that up-from-under sad girl face. Her mouth even does that upside-down smile thing. Oooh. I only a ickle gurl.
He sighs, and with mock-weariness begins trudging to the bar, shaking his head as if to say ‘oh the things I do’.
When he’s out of sight, she allows herself a small contented smile. Whatever it was, she didn’t really want it. She wanted to see if he would get it for her.
He comes back. The conquering hero. Look. I have done a THING for you. You must remember this. Me being so great and cool and that.
He thinks to himself, We both know this is a bullshit ritual, but perhaps I may have a chance of touching her lady-parts.
She thinks to herself, Dear God, what a sap. Oh. But he did go and do it. Maybe I’ll ask my friends what they think. I wonder if he has a weird cock?
I’m still looking around. There are no spare housebricks. The ashtrays are of that flimsy tin variety designed to do no physical harm.
I finish my drink and leave.
posted by Tired Dad at
10:22 pm
20 Comments:
No need to bludgeon them. They will spontaneously combust after the 'honeymoon' period, I'm sure.
But I bet he got shagged anyway....
It was terribly generous of you to leave without any bludgeoning.
I am locking my daughter in her room for ever. She has a boyfriend. I can't take the chance of her behaving like this.
I envy your self-control.
Amanda: I do remember, and it makes me feel a bit ill.
Sabrina: I'm sure you are right.
Frenchie: I wouldn't like to speculate (she probably did)
Lee: Sarcy.
4D: I'm not letting my daughter out of the house until she is 32.
Overnigh: Twas an effort.
you perverted letch
get the voyure channel on sky already
eh?
Ahhh a rare sighting of the Lesser-spotted Twenty-something during daylight hours and not involving any face mashing. Be grateful TD - it could have been sooooo much worse!
Fluff: I don't know either.
M: You're quite right. No, actually, I'd have preferred the face mashing. At least it forces you to look away. This was terrible. The fucking hopefulness of the whole thing. Jesus.
Perhaps....and this is just a slightly wine-induced thought, we're all getting a tad old and cynical? I bet we were just as crap at that age! Except me, obviously.....oh shit I was married with 2 mini-me's at 24! Ok forget that thought.....as you were..
Don't fret too much. They probably went to a nice restaurant afterwards, he made an inappropriate comment about what she was wearing, she punched him in the face and walked out, and he drowned his sorrows so excessively that he woke up the next morning in a gutter with his shoes stolen. Perhaps.
"She then gives him that up-from-under sad girl face. Her mouth even does that upside-down smile thing. Oooh. I only a ickle gurl."
My partner still does this, and gets upset if I refuse to yield. She is also a master(mistress?) of the passive/aggressive comment, which normally follows roughly ten minutes after any particular instance of the 'ickle girl' face.
M_G: 'in agutter with his shoes stolen'. Very good.
Never surrender to the ickle gurl face. You'll hate yourself. And worse, they'll hate you (eventually) for actually succumbing to it.
The ickle gurl face is rubbish, men see straight through it. The 'distract with boobs' technique is the best one.
I agree with Mr Glide, no question he accidentally called her fat within twenty minutes of leaving the pub and it all went tits up, as it were.
L: Hallo and welcome.
Not all of us do. Although I'll agree the tits thing never gets old.
And it is far too easy to accidently call a lady fat.
'You look nice tonight.'
'What do you mean? Are you saying I don't normally look nice? O.K, so I've put on a bit of weight. You don't have to be a cunt about it.'
'What?'
It's really not fair.
git
Cunt
Cock?
(i'm joining in with the spirit of things)
Lovely to see you again.
Erm.
Twat?
No, too harsh. I think you're quite nice. Erm.
Dolt?
Oh, I don't know.
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