tis the season to be outrageous.
so in case jennie, my social publicist, has not told everyone i know, yes i am back in the game.
as i was endearingly dressed as lucy from narnia saturday morning (full on pleated skirt, plaited hair, mary janes, mink coat, dagger and vial of holy water - good lord i can make a costume) for the holiday shoppers, a certain scot appeared in my shop wondering if i was free for lunch, as we had tentatively arranged.
de-lucy-ed and sans mink, i am whisked away to a cafe (well within sight of my colleagues, some of whom i know to have a crush on him). and it was surprisingly good. my faith in the dating system (i guess it counts since he paid and i glowed after) is renewed.
of course the fact we can talk about the merits of the mtv mentality, the meaning of fandom and the death of book alongside the glory of peter parker, gay catholicism and theoretical sex with a goat in the span of an hour doesn't so much validate the idea a date can be sane than it reaffirms my utter dorkdom (but geek chicks are hot, or so i heard).
but fuck it.
i had a nice time, he emailed first, and i have caved and bought the magazine he is in (may it never be said i don't fall into petty girl-dom despite my best efforts).
2 comments:
This is all fine and good but let it not distract you from your true calling for December. Which, as you know, is getting shitfaced and going home from the bar in Royal Oak with someone who is decidedly Midwestern and ignorant of all things literary but oh so hot.
if such a man exists in royal oak i am sure i can temporarily forget the chunky glasses author with an accent. and better yet, promise not to whinge about it after in a guilty but ultimately gratifying fashion.
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