The Disaster Chronicles
#1 - Y'know that beautiful Samoan girl who works at the expresso bar, the one who always smiles heaps & laughs at my jokes & asks me about my day & happily chats while brewing my latte. The one I thought could be The One. Well, I saw her with another bloke (her uncle? brother? cousin?) in town. At least I hope it was her relation. Dunno much about traditional Polynesian customs, but who knows? maybe tongue kissing your relatives is acceptable in Samoan culture? (And just because he was white with blond hair, doesn't mean he wasn't a blood relative, eh?) Yes, I witnessed that soul-destroying earth-shuddering spectacle in the flesh, as time slowed to frame-by-frame slow motion horror. With crushing defeat, I dolefully swept up the billion shards of my shattered heart & trudged forlornly on through the downtown streets, with glumness my only companion. Luckily, sad-sack moroseness is currently (still) the chic look in Wellington, so I managed to fit right in!
#2 - More luckier, while shopping at New World Metro in town, to my absolute delight, I got flirted at by the check out girl! She made lots of cheeky comments about my groceries, mock-scolding me about the amount of crap food I buy, tut-tut-ing over my high sugar diet. The last item scanned, I asked for a packet of ciggies. With faux disdain, she told me that smoking would make me smelly, give me bad breath, and therefore nobody would want to kiss me. I nearly melted and should have asked her to marry me on the spot! But she's a supermarket check out girl - she probably earns more than I do! Nonetheless, I'm grateful that she 'liberated' my inner sex-bomb. My ego, which blows up like a puffer fish at the slightest whiff of attention, received much needed stroking. So I joyfully strutted back home, spring-heeled, my desirabilty affirmed. Were it not for the prevalence of psychotic obsessive (male) stalkers, I'd encourage every young women to randomly flirt with middle-aged strangers - just to make the world a better, happier place.