Saturday, 7 March 2015

Why do they always run away?

I had spent the morning doing some DIY repairs on the home. The previous night's winds must have blown some debris into the place because there were a few holes that needed to be patched up. I'm not particularly good at DIY and certainly not all that neat, but the repairs seemed to hold together well enough.

It is one of the problems, being situated where I am. It can get a bit draughty. Still, it's better than my cousin's place. He was very smug when he found it.

"It's perfect," he announced, proudly. "Just look at the craftsmanship. And it's beautifully sheltered from the wind. I'll be nice and cosy here."

Of course we tried to tell him that it wasn't quite the paradise he had assumed it to be, but he wasn't to be told. He has had a dreadful time but that's the price you pay for making your house in a flood risk area. He gets washed away every time it rains. I'll give him his due though. He is not easily put off.

"Everything will be fine," he says. "The sun will come out and dry up all the rain." It must be great to be so optimistic.

I do have a great view from my spot. It's lovely and shady in the summer, which makes it a popular spot for people to come and have a sit down just below where I live. That's when the trouble started really.

There are all sorts of people who come to rest in the shade and enjoy the tranquillity, but there do seem to be a larger number of single ladies who come to enjoy the surroundings. I'd like to get to know them a bit better, but I am terrified of them. I suppose I realise that I'm not the best looking character they would have ever seen and that makes me a bit nervous to start with, which isn't a good start. I have tried a few times but whenever a beautiful girl gets close, I panic and scuttle off into the shadows as fast as my legs will carry me. I suppose I feel a little less self conscious lurking in the gloomy spots, where people don't notice me as much. Just once I'd like to have the courage to stay around and see what might happen, but I never manage it.

Of course there are all the stories about how cruel the pretty women can be. I'm not sure I believe them all. I'm sure some are exaggerated. Then, of course, there is the fact that some of their behaviour is completely justified. I have a friend, well more of an acquaintance I suppose, who was convinced that the way to meet these women was to wait for them in places where they were most likely to visit. I suppose his theory was reasonable. I just didn't realise that the place he had picked out was the bathroom. I haven't seen him for weeks. There were dreadful rumours going round about what happened to him. Makes me shudder just to think about them.

Anyway, as I said, I had been busy all morning repairing things. I was quite hungry after all that work so I was delighted when my handiwork was rewarded and I was able to grab a bite to eat. It was a bit too much for me to have all in one go so I wrapped it up and left it for later.

Then I spotted the most gorgeous girl, walking towards my patch. I gazed at her, dreamily for ages. I couldn't believe any of my eyes when she stopped, right below my homestead and sat down. This was my chance. She seemed to be setting up for a picnic because she took out a small bowl and a spoon, sat down on her little stool and made herself comfortable.

I took some deep breaths and gave myself a talking to. What is the worst that could happen? She could only say "No." Well, actually, she could have done to me what the girl is rumoured to have done to my acquaintance, but I couldn't think like that. I plucked up all my courage and decided to go and see her. I moved closer to her - as smooth as silk. I sat down beside her. I was too scared to do anything else. I just sat there.

I must have been very quiet because she didn't notice me at first. She just kept on eating her picnic. It didn't smell all that appetising, but each to their own. After a couple of minutes, she happened to glance down at me. I nearly panicked and scuttled off, but I didn't. I just sat there, trying to look handsome.

It didn't work. She dropped her bowl and spoon, screamed, and ran off. And there I was. Left behind again. I stood there, covered in sloppy cheese, admiring her beautiful tuffet, as she disappeared into the distance.

No comments:

Post a Comment