L is for Last minute play

So on Saturday Imperial Wharf had their Jazz festival. It was great with the highlights being YolanDa Brown and Omar. I think this is the 3rd time I’ve seen him this year. Yeah, the tricky Gary Barlow-esque comeback

Anyway I would like to start by explaining where Imperial Wharf is. It’s on the edge of Fulham next to Chelsea. Yes, finally an event that was near me and I didn’t have to take public transport to get there. So naturally I was late and missed the Cuban group.

It was a mixed crowd. I had my seat so I was ok. I decided to wonder off to the posh portokabins loos (Fulham – love it) and on my way there was a man who was walking with a cute toddler. I ignore men with children but …he didn’t ignore me

“Is all that for you?”

Huh? Pardon

He went on to tell me how his son was tired and sleepy and that he was taking him home but that he couldn’t help himself. He had to made a comment about my body. Seriously? I smiled, said something to the child and walked off. He was just attempting some last minute play before going home

And here in lies my issue with men and last minute play. Don’t think we don’t see you doing it. The lights are about to come on or have just come on and you’ve not picked up any numbers. You look around and BANG! You decide that she’ll do. Ignore the fact that you’ve tripped her up twice before in an attempt to get to her friend who has now gone home with a better catch. We see you.

I went back to my seat and duly forgot about it. Because it’s last minute play. I don’t play.

Then Omar came on and everyone was in the spirit of it and the festival came to an end. People started moving away and I saw the panicked look on some of the guys faces. Suddenly the drink has kicked in and they’re realising that they don’t have a night out story to tell. I did my best not to make eye contact my precious I did but he was really tall and even when I had ducked and went to speak to a friend he came over. ….he came and said hi. I said hi and walked away to talk to my friends who….broke the girl code and ran away! Karma is a bitch called Chelsea ladies. Your time will come.

So he asked for my number. Sadly my phone was in my hand so I couldn’t claim I didn’t have it. Something about him stunk of Nigistence. It may have been his beer breath but I knew that if I gave him my number he was going to test it there and there. I felt the pressure and a trickle of a glisten start on the back of my neck. OK. I would have to give it to him and hope he forgot about it the next day.

But the next day apparently he hadn’t forgotten……

© Chelsea Black

Chelsea Black is a writer. Romantically seeking her Fubo (future boyfriend) she often gets distracted by misadventures. She is currently working on her second book, first baby (sperm to be confirmed) and first real career. Chocolate and cocktails are food groups