Angels. And one non-angel.

There is a flock of angels.

  • I met an Italian Angel who was good looking and local, but also an idiot. He first approached me weeks and weeks ago, and I rejected him because it didn’t sound like he had enough (or any) experience of internet dating. People with no experience of internet dating are a pain in the ass. They are over-excited and excessively anxious, which is a very tiresome combination. On the one hand they are nearly convinced that the meeting is going to turn into a big romance, when any experienced internet dater knows that the chances of that resulting from any particular first date are close to zero, which is why you have to go on a lot of first dates. On the other hand, they are nearly convinced that you are a serial killer and/or a truck driver called Brian, when any experienced internet dater knows that the chances of that are even smaller. Consequently, in the period leading up to the first date, they will pester you with 18,000 redundant questions. OMG why do you not have a profile photo on WhatsApp, I am panicking here (get over it). Can you email me more photos (no). What happens if we don’t like each other (nothing, we will simply go on with our lives). Can you confirm six more times that we are definitely meeting (we are definitely meeting, but every time you interrupt me when I am working to ask me that, I become slightly less interested). Etc. So he was one of those. He came back to me and swore he’d been on a few other dates with other people, which is what I had told him to do, but he was either lying or he just hadn’t learned anything.
  • Next up there was a French Angel, who was extremely pretty and charming and a lovely dinner companion, as I think we can agree one can expect from the French. He was very polite but just not quite brave enough and I don’t need another Marcel.
  • Then exciting things happened. I sent a well-timed text message to my little Hungarian boy, the original Angel, which resulted in my arriving at his house an hour later, where we spent some time working on our special little understanding. He is an adorable and sweet boy, just the right temperament, just the right mix of brave and shy, just the right amount experienced (that is, rather a lot for someone of his years), beautiful manners, lovely taste, works hard, fends for himself in London and loves his mother. Everything that I like and am sympathetic to. Just perfect for me. Plus he’s obviously beautiful and could easily be the poster Angel for Xmas 2013. I really like him a lot and I’m trying not to let it show too much. That’s how much I like him.
  • After that there was yet another Angel, today, a very well-behaved, well-educated and clever blond English boy with a very pretty face. As much as I liked him, we were just not quite right for each other. He tried to persuade me otherwise but I said no. He sulked attractively for a bit but even his pouty lip did not melt my heart. See, if that had been Hungarian Boy with the pouty lip it probably would have been a different story. I probably would have felt like buying him a present.
  • In the middle of all these enjoyable shenanigans, Sayed called me. Knew he would. I found myself to be most direct with him on the phone. He’s never heard me speak to him like that before. We arranged to meet tomorrow, in fact I told him that that’s what we are doing and I further told him, in the most no-nonsense tone, ‘Make sure you are sober, I have plans for you and I want you sober’ and he laughed nervously. I am in a Certain Mood, readers. A Certain Mood that I acquired by contagion from continuous exposure to the Head Honcho, who is a formidable man. And that is why I have been wearing the most towering, architecturally unfeasible heels all week and why I am thinking of packing Certain Items in my handbag, such as a hairbrush and a small leather paddle that I haven’t mentioned and that y’all don’t know I possess. So just forget I said anything. Okay?

I still have not set foot in the gym.

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