I have a confession to make and it may not come as much of a surprise, but I think it’s something that needs to be addressed. Up until now I’ve tried real hard to think about what I’m saying to you, but the truth is, I swear. A lot.
I can’t help it; I’m an adult. And honestly, when you’re as clumsy as I am you need a little ‘fuck’ and ‘shit’ when you’ve broken your last set of china. Does anyone have any paper plates? Best not go with plastic, too risky. . .
I’m sorry if it offends you, but I wouldn’t be faithful to my true character without a little balls-deep humour. You know, the kind that makes your arse crack smile from the farts that escape while you laugh.
Yes, I’m looking at you. Don’t pretend I didn’t hear those cheerful poofters.
Why am I making a big deal about my swearing now? This is why; Drew. He’s the source to all my problems. I have a scratch I can’t itch. Damn, I mean. . . Well, you get it. When it comes to him I can’t be held accountable for what I’m about to say.
I know you’ve already met him, and I know you know how much I’ve fucked up my chances with him. I’ve literally dug my own spinster grave, and signed the nun contract. Sister Liberty; cobwebbed and dry since 2014. Caution; chainsaw advised.
But he’s all I think about, so I made myself a promise, and it went like this:
I have to see whatever this post-teen crush means because you know what? I’m bordering stalker. Like, “Hey, I bumped into you at work which is 30 minutes from where I work, and I’ve run out of tea and I was wondering if you’d tea bag me? I mean, do you have any tea bags?”
Yeah, you can imagine how that went down. And not like that, you dirty bastard.
Aside from going red, my mind is rushing through ideas to make the situation better. I’m already mortified that I tracked him down to his workplace, paid for a bus fare to get there, and asked him for tea in an unconventional way, but it’s okay because I’m about to make things worse.
He stares at me a while, probably weighing up his chances of escape when he asks me, “What are you doing here?”
I take my time, blink a few seconds before answering because my knickers are diving into my arse like they’re trying for gold at the Olympics and it’s really distracting.
“Do you want to feed me?” I splutter, and then try to rectify the damage. “No, I mean, do you want to go eat me?”
He bursts into laughter, and I’m done. My words are more confused than a straight man at a gay bar. I turn to walk away because there’s really nothing I’m capable of saying to make it work. Talking cohesively is for adults, and apparently I’m really not one of them.
I make it to the elevator before he chases after me with a smug grin on his face. The doors are beginning to close when he yells, “Liberty, I’ll pick you up at eight.”
I’m overwhelmed with confusion and move forward to hear a little better. “Just make sure you’re still in one piece when I get there,” he jokes.
I let out a sarcastic laugh when the doors close on me, squeezing me like a puss-filled zit.
Hey, at least I got what I wanted.
Stay tuned to find out how Liberty and Drew’s date goes next week on Living Funny; Dying Clumsy.
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