There's a little bit of hooker in every woman ~ Sarah Miles

Dear Readers,
                       This is the fourth blog i have tried to write - It should be more successful then my last, simply because I have decided not to do this one anonymously, by this i actually mean i subtly put it on my facebook page (this is far as publicising it as i will go) and i plan to let go of my already shamelessly low inhibitions and just tell my embarrassing stories as they are.


So, the background to this story is I recently came home from Europe after 10 months of "Mills and Boon" style romantic escapades - much to the happy ignorance of my family and returned to find that I had suddenly lost my bag of charm I could deal out, that came with being an "exotic Australian with a cute accent". And so I was desperate. You know what I mean, when your eye starts an involuntary twitch every time an attractive man walks past and a little bit of spittle escapes from the side of your mouth at the thought of the beautiful Italian man in your italian tute (another story).


Then one day at uni my Irish luck turned around and I met a man who, for the purposes of this story will be called "Leather Jacket". Leather Jacket ticked my boxes:
- He was Scottish (usually its the Irish accent that makes me subconsciously undress immediately and usually leeds to me unwillingly and embarrassingly salivating, but Scottish is super cute too)
- He was studying engineering (as an Arts student who has no viable career prospects with a decent monetary reward, one has to consider how my travel bug / dress collection will be maintained)
- He was tall (what can I say? I am not short but a partner needs to still be taller than you when you wear heals - otherwise you just look stupid)

So when this tall, dark, handsome, Scottish engineer asked me back to his apartment for lunch I thought that I had found the solution to my twitch wink, wink.
So, we went back to his place and he made pasta - it was nice pasta -
and we pleasantly chatted for a while and we had a glass of wine

and he saids -
"So, do you want to come upstairs and look at my leather jacket?"

First of all the little Bridie inside of myself was all like:
YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS  FI.  NAL.  LY.

Now, I'm pretty sure that are were thinking what was thinking ( "I think I am B2")
that "come up stairs and look at my leather jacket" could be translated to
"come up stairs and look at my etchings"
"come have a coffee in my car"
"come up to my apartment for a drink of milo" ect ect - you can see where my dirty mind was going with this.....

Anywho, i say "yes" (probably a little too quickly and a little too loudly) and I followed him up stairs where he sat me on a armchair outside his bedroom door.
And so I waited

(crickets chirp, tumble weed)

And he throws open the bedroom door to reveal .... HIMSELF! exactly as he was dressed before hand but with a leather jacket on!!
He looked at himself in the mirror opposite and said
"isn't it a LOVELY jacket"
he proceeded to do a little SPIN, ADMIRING himself in the jacket, looking at himself over his shoulder in the mirror.
He finally acknowledged my existence -
 a SINGLE, semi- ATTRACTIVE, FEMALE, in his APARTMENT, ALONE with him and asked me if i would like
"to feel how soft the leather is?"

He then asked if he wanted to walk back to uni with me because he had class.........

I can't decide what the moral of this story is
"when one is desperate, it is easy to read too far into situations in an attempt to plicate the desperateness"
or
"men REALLY don't have "one thing on their mind" as sister Loretto told me in sex ed yr 7"
or
"the quality of leather in Australia is not as inferior to European leather as was thought"

I would love to hear your thoughts and feelings

Bridie
xoxo