I’m much more comfortable with the hecklers in cars and the staring bus passengers than I am with wispy lashed charmers at the checkout. Do people really think that cracking on to strangers in a supermarket works? (Is it working on me?)
Of course my dealings in romance, or even just flattery, were scarce. There was one guy at a party, we lay on a stranger’s bed and kissed with the lights on while everyone on the balcony watched and cheered. When we met again, sober and now strangers to each other, it was like that moment was made up in my head. Another at a bonfire, she sat in my lap and stroked my hair even though it was tangled by the wind; she combed it with her fingers and gave me her email address. I didn’t write to her.
These flings were more like accidental intimacy and I never took them seriously. I probably could have. Should have? I just didn’t ever believe that anyone could want to kiss me soberly, or write to me and get to know me. I kept people at an arm’s distance instead of bringing them to my cleavage and trapping them there with my sturdy arms.
3273!