I sit here watching my skin redden and I wonder why I'm doing this to myself. For years I've had a morbid fascination with seeing my eyes protrude from a scarlet face which has seen far more sun than is considered healthy. I guess to an extent I've always thought I looked better (not good, but better) when I had that radioactive glow as a result of absorbing the suns rays...in fact I've absorbed so many that I'm carcinogenic now.
Next to me is the man of my dreams. Tall. Blonde. Muscular. My best friend. My best friend for the past ten years of the twenty three that I've lived. Quite honestly, being in love with him stinks. He notices every woman on the planet other than myself. For instance, we go out to clubs - I spend the two and a half hours preceding this event making myself look like a contender for the Miss World championships (okay, so I'm exaggerating slightly. Okay a lot. Fine, more than should be exaggerated) and when it comes time to greet him as he's standing in the small corridor of my small apartment he smiles and kisses my cheek politely and says "you look nice". You look nice. Is it possible that anyone could say anything which sounds more obligatory than Taylor's "you look nice"?. Simply put : no.
So I sigh, smile and reply "Thanks, so do you". What? So it's an obligatory reply :- serves him right, the smarmy bastard.
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I had the biggest crush on her when we were fifteen. And sixteen. And seventeen. Hey, I did say it was the biggest crush. Those three years I thought she was the most beautiful being that the earth had ever had the honour of having her walk on it. Eventually a trip to Europe followed by one to the state of Georgia had the (desired) effect of making me forget about her as a love interest and focusing on her as a friend.
Now don't get me wrong : She's gorgeous. She knows I think she's stunning. Every time we go out I tell her she "looks nice", but I think she's figured out by now that I only say it in a comic understatement and that I actually have a slight (purely physical, of course) urge to floor her then and there and have wild, rampant, unrestrained, animalistic sex until we both collapse breathless on her bed.
Have I become too carried away?
I swear though, the urge is only physical. It has nothing to do with the fact that I love the way she listens to everything I have to say without passing judgment. It has nothing to do with the way that she looks downwards with an ironic smile tinting her mouth as I compliment her. And it definitely has nothing to do with the fact that I think her face is going to fall apart because her smile is so wide. No siree.
I've only ever kissed her once. I was eighteen. We were dancing around to ABBA, Roxette, Kriss Kross (Okay, so we were going through a slight musical misdirection) in my room. Three weeks prior to this musical escapade I'd split with my girlfriend. During Robert Palmer's "Simply Irresistible" I suddenly found my tongue in her mouth, and we were having a good ol' time of it too. We broke apart, stared at each other and promptly started laughing (Or to be more precise, and further diminish my masculinity,we were giggling) and then continued dancing.
I hear Gia shifting in her banana chair.
Santorini was definitely a good choice for a holiday.
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