‘I’m lonely. Let’s get a place together.’
Lad Boy laughed into the phone. ‘Oh. You’re serious. Hm. Maybe.’
‘It would be so much fun. We practically live together already.’
‘Not really.’
‘Which part?’
‘The us practically living together.’
‘I promise I won’t be messy.’ I lied.
‘Liar.’
‘I know.’
‘Besides, your place is nice. Why don’t you want to live there?’
‘It’s okay. I’m just alone a lot.’
‘You lived alone at college.’
‘True. But that was different.’
‘And we hang out all the time anyway.’ There was a knock on the door. I got up to get it and opened it. Lad Boy hung up the phone. ‘See? And why couldn’t you wait until I got here to have this conversation?’
‘I was bored.’ I shrugged.
‘Find a job yet?’
‘Nope.’ I said, walking into the kitchen.
‘What are you doing for money?’
‘Don’t worry about it.’ I paused. ‘Wait, that makes me sound like a prostitute. I have money, don’t worry.’
‘Alright for some.’
‘Mmm.’ I said raising my eyebrows. ‘I am looking for a job.’
‘That’s a lie.’
‘I’m thinking about looking for a job.’
‘Slightly more believable.’
‘I might start thinking about looking for a job soon.’
‘There we go!’
‘Maybe I’ll bartend.’ I said, putting the kettle on.
‘You would be a horrible bartender.’
‘I would be a brilliant bartender.’
‘You’d be good for banter, but horrible for business.’
‘What?!’
‘Would you honestly charge me for a drink if I came in?’
‘No, I probably wouldn’t charge any of my friends. Isn’t that one of the benefits to working at a bar? Free drinks?’
‘No, that is not a benefit. Hence why you would be terrible for business.’
‘Sounds like a horrible job anyway.’
‘Yeah, bartending is pants.’
‘Have you ever bartended?’ I asked, surprised.
‘No, because it’s shit.’
The kettle switched off and I started filling the mugs with water. ‘What’s your favourite band?’
‘Why?’ He said, frowning.
‘Dunno. Realised I don’t know what your taste in music is.’
He laughed. ‘You are so weird!’
‘Just tell me your favourite band!’
‘This is actually bothering you.’
‘Kind of.’ I said, handing him a cup of tea. ‘You’re my best mate and I don’t know what your favourite band is. Don’t you find that strange?’
‘No.’ He shrugged.
‘Do you know my favourite band?’
‘I really don’t care.’
‘That’s because you don’t know what my favourite band is.’
‘AC/DC.’ He said flatly.
‘Ha! Wrong!’
‘They write your favourite song.’
‘That’s correct.’ I conceded.
He turned to me. ‘You don’t actually have a favourite band because you like all kinds of music, but if you had a gun to your head you’d probably say that,’ he squinted one eye and thought for a moment, ‘Black Eyed Peas are your favourite band.’
‘Don’t judge me for that. But it is true. If I had to listen to one band for the rest of my life it would be them. It would be like a constant party.’
‘One, I do judge you for that, and two did the DJ play Black Eyed Peas when you requested it the other night?’
‘No.’ I said, sadly.
‘That’s because it’s not great party music.’
‘It is at my parties.’
‘That’s why your parties suck.’
I gawked. ‘My parties are amazing.’
‘Actually,’ he said slowly, ‘they are.’ I smiled. ‘I liked the one where you had buckets of Pimms.’
‘And hours of Black Eyed Peas. It makes me happy just thinking about it.’ I said, reminiscing.
‘Did you really think the song “Imma Be” was about being a bee?’
‘Like a bumble bee? Yes.’
He laughed. ‘God, you’re thick.’
‘I know.’ I said, sadly again. ‘Wait!’ I said, perking up. ‘You still haven’t told me what your favourite band is.’
‘I heard a really good one last week. I wrote it down somewhere in my phone.’ He scrolled through his phone. ‘Shit. Where’d it go? Oh well, I can’t remember. I guess I listen to reggae a lot.’
I paused for a moment. ‘I knew that. I guess I just chose to block that out of my memory because it’s so fucking strange.’
‘Reminds me of going on holiday.’
I laughed. ‘You are so weird.’
‘You thought a song was about being a bumble bee!’
‘It could happen. I even made up a dance about being a bee.’
‘Don’t show m –’ I tucked my arms in like a t-rex and moved around like a bee. ‘That is so … bad. You look like a spastic.’
‘This dance is fantastic. My favourite part is when they go “celebrate like I’m a bee!” and then I like to think about bees celebrating.’
‘Are we actually still talking about this?’
‘We are. What are we doing this weekend?’
‘Getting smashed.’
‘Celebrating like bees?’
‘No. Bees do not celebrate. They work all day for the dictator queen bee. It’s actually quite a sad existence, constantly working. It’s like a communist country, a bee hive.’
‘You’re ruining the song for me.’
‘No, you’re ruining the song by making it about bees!’
‘Agree to disagree.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t think this guy I fancy likes me.’
‘Dick.’
‘I know.’
Lad Boy had finally stopped asking about Langdon when it became obvious that we were no longer sleeping together, thus making all jokes immediately less funny and just a little bit hurtful actually. ‘Why do you think he doesn’t like you?’
Before he could finish asking I had pulled out my phone. ‘Look at these text messages … so there’s this friend of his that keeps asking me out and I keep saying no, because, well no. And then this.’ I shoved the phone in front of Lad Boy so he could read the following correspondence.
[Quick sidenote. Names. Two new very good friends of mine who will frequently be mentioned in the blog starting shortly. One is the boy I fancy and the other is our friend. The one I fancy I will more likely than not sleep with, or maybe not. He’s a bit like Lad Boy in that he’s extremely attractive and I fancied him at first, but now I’m not sure if we’ll just end up being really good friends or what. Either way, I’m naming them both after tube stations because they’re good mates. The hot one I want to sleep with is going to be Richmond, or Rich and the other one, who is such a sweetheart and as entertaining as the show Fresh Meat is going to be called St. Paul’s, or Paul.]
First, my text:
[His friend’s name here] asked me if I was going to gatecrash Paul’s date this weekend and if I wanted to be his date and I told him that you were already my gate-crashing date xx
To which Rich replied:
Ha, I can’t believe you let him down. I told him he had a chance with you! x x
[Keep up now, this is going to be a me then him type of text message dialogue:]
Why do you keep trying to set me up to him?! xx
I’m trying to set you two up to get you off of my back! You’re so short, I’m so tall. It would never work … So sorry! Xx
Fine, conceited! As if I would date you. You’re like giant tall, not hot tall. I can’t handle freaks xx
So what are we going to do to embarrass Paul on this date? Should we act like total mentalists? You can pull that funny face you were making last night hahaha xx
I wish I could be there in person to pull that face and say ‘Why don’t you like me? Is it my hair? Because I can cut that you know.’ Maybe I will take [the guy that keeps asking me out] since you’ve made your feelings about me clear! I’m lying. Pleasedontmakemegowithhim xx
I just burst out laughing imagining you doing that :) Oh I’ll be there and I’m going to look goooood! Xx
I hope everyone around you at work judged you for laughing out loud. You say you’re going to look good like it’s hard to do. I mean it might be hard for you, but it’s like breathing for me xx
I’m about to drop some knowledge on your ass, so grab a pen and paper. Normal people dressing smart hit the ugly ceiling, they will never break this barrier, however cool the clothes on their back may be. I, on the other hand, make clothes look good and with the combination of my beauty and a minimal amount of effort placed into a suitable little ensemble my swagger has no limits xx
‘This guy is a douche.’ Lad Boy said.
‘Keep reading! I get funnier. Look what I wrote next!’
Noted. I’m confused. Did you just call me ugly?! xx
‘That’s not funny.’ Lad Boy said.
‘No, the next part after his next text.’
OMG the world just revolves around you doesn’t it :) No, it was one good looking person talking with another xx
‘He fancies you.’
‘So what! Look at my response!’
Lad Boy sighed and read on.
Oh good, you’ve realised that the world does literally revolve around me. I’m like a tiny planet and my ego makes up the atmosphere. You should also know that I don’t hang out with uggos. That’s the closest thing you’ll get to me agreeing that you’re good looking xx
‘Wait, you think he likes me?’ I said, forgetting my witty retort.
Lad Boy frowned. ‘I’ve never written a text as long as half of the ones he sent you in the space of what I presume to be an hour. His texts are so close together that there isn’t even a time stamp!’
‘I hate that about iPhones. I want to know exact times.’
‘Anyway.’ Lad Boy said, elongating the word. ‘The point is that he likes you.’
‘Well, what’s not to like?’
He laughed. ‘So you being a planet wasn’t ironic?’
‘Nothing I do is ironic. I’m not a Shoreditch wanker.’
‘This is true.’
‘Though I kind of want to be so I can be on Made in Shoreditch.’
‘What is your obsession with reality television?’
‘I. Do. NOT. Have a problem! I do love Made in Chelsea though.’
‘I. Know. You talk about it way too much.’
‘My friend went to school with Spencer.’
‘Half of our friends went to school with Spencer – he went to fucking Eton!’
‘Oh yeah. BUT, this friend had art classes with Spencer. Did you know Spencer learned how to play chess from P. Diddy?’
‘I don’t care … but that is awesome.’
‘I know, right? I wish P. Diddy would teach me anything.’
‘Anything?’ He said, raising his eyebrows.
‘Don’t go there.’
‘I’m going.’
‘No! You know I hate vulgarity!’
‘Prude.’
‘Hardly.’
‘Ha, I’m kidding. You’re a schlagggg.’
I punched him in the arm. ‘What?!’
‘Kidding!’
‘I am a little bit though.’ I said.
‘Just a little bit though.’ He said, patting me on the shoulder. He looked down towards my chest. ‘Are you wearing two bras?’
‘Yes. Don’t my boobs look massive?’
‘They do.’ He said, poking my bra.
‘I can’t even feel that. Too much bra.’
‘That is a lot of bra.’ He said, poking it again.
‘Okay, stop poking me.’
‘It’s fun.’
‘Good, the more fun the better. They’re meant to be attracting people.’
‘They’re huge.’
‘They aren’t really.’
‘Yeah, but to the untrained eye, they are just ... yeah.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Did you put those on just to hang out at yours?’
‘Well it kind of hurts so I’m seeing if it’s realistic that I can wear them or not. I’m thinking not. They’re almost too big.’
‘No such thing.’
‘Oh really?’
Five minutes of YouPorn later … ‘Okay, there is such a thing as too big.’ Lad Boy admitted.
‘Thank you … oh and I lied earlier.’
‘About not caring whether or not this guy you clearly like, gauging by your text messages, likes you.’
‘I … don’t … well … Black Eyed Peas aren’t my favourite anymore!’
‘Oh really?’ Lad Boy said, stifling laugher.
‘No.’ I said, sitting tall and taking a sip of tea. ‘I much prefer listening to Tchaikovsky for eternity.’
Lad Boy laughed then looked at me. ‘Oh. You’re serious. Hm. Well, maybe.’
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