The Bold and the Beautiful
Unfortunately I managed to spend the whole of last week ill, feeling very sorry for myself: there is nothing worse than seeing others go out partying while you are curled up and waiting for death. I had also managed to give the flu to Mr Fitty, and although it was for completely the wrong reasons, I did feel some pride at having kept a guy bed-bound for three days. In fact the whole Mr Fitty scenario was very frightening. We had met on three occasions over the week, and for the first time in a long time, I wanted to see the guy again. He was actually interesting and our conversations were very deep - he admitted to finding Ariel from the Little Mermaid pretty and after I had confessed to finding Prince Eric fit, I realised that this wasn't just a remarkable coincidence, but that the Disney love test had proved our compatibility. Anxiety even set in when I didn't receive any text message for two days, despite constant reassurance from my friends that this was normal.
The waiting was terribly upsetting and I refused to text first, on principle; there was only one thing that could divert my attention from my phone - shopping. And so, on Friday I decided to take a little trip to visit my best friend's new apartment in Mayfair, which has the added advantage of being directly behind Selfridges. Instead of consoling me however, the friend told me that the guy that she was seeing had just written a song for her and had recorded it with his group. In a few months, she won't have to wait for a text message to know about his infatuation with her - the evidence will be on show in every HMV, Our Price and Virgin Megastore around the country. Men of Oxford take note - the way to our hearts is no longer through the stomach (or anywhere else), but through the radio.
Retail therapy was urgently required and I soon found myself in an exclusive women's erotica shop - think high class Victorian brothel, with dimmed lights, red velour, gold gilded mahogany chairs and old fashioned telephones. As two shop assistants laced me into a beautiful £560 ivory corset, which somehow managed to create an impressive cleavage, I finally received the long-awaited text message. Even though I had reluctantly left the corset on the counter, I left the shop smiling.
27th Feb 2003