“Oh, shit!” I turn my back to Drew and cover myself up quickly, rearranging my dress in double-quick time.
I hear him cough, and then he speaks. “I think we should start again. Hold on.” The door clicks behind me, and I quickly turn to see he’s left. That’s it.
My boobs have officially repelled a man.
A few seconds later the door knocks, and this time I’m loathed to open it. Why? Because I’m pretty sure the date is over and he’s expecting to move things to the bedroom.
Not that I blame him.
‘Bloody hell, Libbie. Slap on your balls and man up,’ I think to myself before opening the door with as much of a smile as I can muster without laughing. It’s hard, I’m used to laughing at myself. It comes with the territory of being clumsy.
“Wow, you look great,” Drew manages without a hint of a smirk. I’m pretty impressed that he fails to mention any obvious jokes, and decide to go along with his new plan. My titstrastophe never happened. Right?
“I’ll just be a minute,” I say, and rush to my room to spray on some perfume before taking his hand to leave. I grab the nearest bottle and spritz lavishly across my body and face. “Now, I’m ready,” I whisper to myself.
The night goes on, waiters move around us, and noise carries along the Italian restaurant. Conversation is surprisingly comfortable, and I’ve managed to keep the food from falling in my lap. And despite my earlier mishap, I’m calling this date successful. I’ve managed to keep my clumsiness at bay. Something I should receive a medal for.
I feel like the date is wrapping up, coming to its natural close. Drew calls for the cheque, and watches me with puppy dog eyes. He walks me home like the gentleman I know he is, and the moonlight highlights his smouldering sexiness. I’m entranced completely, and I feel my body compelling me to kiss him. I want to. I have to.
I lean towards him with eyes closed, puckering up like a mighty goldfish. This is what I’ve been waiting for. I’m leaning in, further and further . . .
“Hey, Liberty? What are you doing tomorrow?”
I open my eyes swiftly, and notice he’s a few feet ahead of me. He never stopped, didn’t even notice my advancement. The ground meets my face with a welcoming hug before I have time to stop myself. I land with a giant thud, and my nose smacks the concrete with a tear-jerking crack.
“Jesus Christ!” Drew rushes to kneel beside me, and all I can feel is his hands patting around me. God knows why.
My eyes have watered, and blood is pouring out of my nose like I’m the star of a badly budgeted horror movie. Clumsy chick gets the cut first <– that’s my tagline.
Drew helps me to my feet, and I’m surprised by the sudden pain. “Fuck me, this hurts,” I say and pass out in his arms like an upside-down butterfly with the grace of a slug.
Did you know you see stars before you faint? They’re like little black dots of fairy death getting ready to take you.
Well, guess what? I fucking do now.
Stay tuned to find out what happens next in Living Funny; Dying Clumsy.
One thought on “Living Funny; Dying Clumsy”
Pingback: Living Funny; Dying Clumsy | justinewinter