The playsuit and the Olympic torch guy

Dear God I’m behind on updating you. Forgive me my precious but what with the sun out last week and me being a sun addict it was hard to stay in and write. You understand right?

But last week the Olympic torch came to Chelsea. I had no idea not having a TV or any interest in anything vaguely patriotic but I did want to get some more chocolate so I reluctantly left my house. I chose to  wear a black and white all in one shorts ensemble. In my mind living in Chelsea means that I can wear whatever I like and get away with it without harassment. The 9 months that I lived in Tottenham in 2001 were not as free. You had to dress for safety. But Kings Road? I was good.

So as I get onto the Kings Road I notice all these kids crying because they didn’t get to see the torch? That was my first clue that something was amiss. Then there was additional police people. (how do I tell the difference between real popo and community support officers? I swear the police have cut down on the fitness programme and are getting a lot more portly these days. How can they catch criminals. But I digress)

So I’m walking looking at my toes in flip flops yearning for my weekly pedicure of yesteryear and wondering if I should squeeze an extra day out of the leftovers when I’m stopped in the street. The guy is young in a hoody, seriously on a day like that hot day and is doing something awfully perculiar with his lips. That LL Cool J has A LOT to answer for when he gets to pimp heaven. He has men all over the world chewing their lips in what they perceive to be a seductive manner. It’s not!

He comes back to where I’m standing looking perplexed and says

“So what can a guy like me do to get a girl like you’s number? [lip munch, lip munch, lip munch]

I laugh and try to walk away but he blocks me and engages in conversation. I blame the playsuit. I’m never approached on Kings Road. It’s my safe place.

Eventually I engage in conversation and learn the following facts. I’m nothing if not good at qualifying whether or not a man is number worthy.

He’s not from Chelsea. He’s from Clapham Junction. He gets points for not trying to dress this up by stating it’s south Chelsea or Battersea. I like the honesty.

He’s a handyman. He asks if I have any DIY I need doing. [lip munch, lip munch, leans back and lip munches again] I think about it and I DO still have the desk that needs putting up but can I risk it?

But no,  I would have to pay him back in sex. What if he’s a sweaty worker? He’s sweating now! His sweating excuse was that he was sweating over seeing me but to be honest I don’t know why he thought a hoody was acceptable in this heat. He’s clearly not one for basic chemistry or biology. Just saying! And a dark hoody at that? I digress again.

He has a Latin name but doesn’t speak French, Spanish or Italian. He did however count for me in a combination of all three. Bless

Oh he’s 31. I call him a baby and he leans back and does his lip munch. I now realise that the lean back move is for me to get a good view of the 6 pack under the white vest. Ah!

He missed the torch. Unlike me that’s why he was there! He was now following a bunch of strangers down Kings Road hoping to catch it. Yes clearly science wasn’t his strong suit. That torch was long gone!

Eventually I realise that I’m not going to get away from him without at least taking his number so I offer to do this. Nigistence is a bitch.

“Don’t take my number if you’re not going to call me you na!” [Leans back, lip munch]

“I’ll call” I lie as I take out my trusted battered blackberry. Don’t judge my precious. To be fair he had made me laugh. Who knows maybe I wasn’t lying. Besides the sun was out and I was feeling deliciously generous. Plus it has been 3 months of no sex.

Then he says it

“So what you’re on T mobile yeah?”

[scratch record]

What kind of nonsense is that? I tell him emphatically that I’m not on T mobile and what difference does it make.

“Don’t worry babes,” he says, I’ve got plenty of other sim cards with free minutes and texts.” Then he leans back and does a lip snarl that was quite frankly a little scary. I take his number then make random noises about being late. As we part ways he goes in for a hug and his hands travel south. Seriously? I tell him that’s not in the spirit of the Olympics and walk away deleting his number.

Why universe why? Cant’ you send me a respectful guy who isn’t conscience of mobile networks? I beg you do this for me and keep my Olympic dream of finding FuHu gold alive.

© Chelsea Black

 

 

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