|Tempus did not fugit|
I sat on the counter in the corner of my kitchen patiently waiting for the Sweet Swede. Originally he had arranged to be at my house waiting for me when I came back from work. The anticipation was too much for me to handle and after a few exchanges over text messages I could see it was going to be a great weekend.
The last time we met I went to visit him in Leamington Spa. He showed me around the place.
We popped into an art gallery where the staff offered us a class of champagne, which I gladly took. Maybe a little too enthusiastically. Being a non-drinker, the Swede declined. I wondered if he would be discusted to kiss me with my booze-lips, so I chomped on a few Polos to help lift the taste. I was pretty sure that would do it.
I was not so worried about the alcohol taste as I sat in my kitchen waiting for him to come to mine. There was nothing for me to do except drink Malibu. I kept hearing cars and glanced over to see if it was him. Then an hour and a half later than expected he called me and said "Hi. I'm in Winnersh. What's your address again?" I gave him my postcode and his Sat Nav said he'd be there in 7 minutes. That may have been one of the longest 7 minutes of my life.
So, back to why I deserved to be kept waiting. A couple of weeks ago I said I'd go up to see him on a Friday night. He said that he was in all night and to come up 'whenever'. So, I went to a friend's barbecue and at 10.15pm I started the hour-long drive up to Leamington spa. When I got there I snuck up to the front door of his building and tried the door. It wouldn't open. So I texted him to say, "Will you be really annoyed with me if I come up tomorrow instead?" I got a very short reply which said, "I'm very disappointed because I was really looking forward to seeing you." No kisses at the end. I stood back from the door so that I was visible from the window of his first floor flat and texted again saying, "You'd better let me in then because I don't know your flat number!" I saw the blind twitch and his fingers poke through. He had finally seen me and without a word, buzzed me in. As I met him at his door he stood back and gave me a wry smile. Whoops. I have said before that I wasn't sure if he would get my sense of humour....
|The Swede had asked me on one of our first phone calls if I|
liked honey. Now I know why...
Although the Sea Monster is in France visiting his sick father he has kept in contact with me daily because he said he was worried that if he didn't he would be out of site, out of mind! He's back in the country on the 6th of August, and unlike the Swede he seems to know the right things to say. I have no doubt that the Sea Monster is very keen, but the Swede's approach is more subtle and with small gestures and suggestions. They are both gentlemen (aren't all men at the start) but the Sea Monster takes the prize for chivalry. He's always offering to do 'man stuff' for me like mow the lawn, and fix my leaky front door. The Swede said he'd wash my car because he found it therapeutic, but that's only because I asked him if he would.
Just for the odd flirty text every now and then the Lance Corporal is still hanging around. However, I had to tell him that he's wasting his time if he thinks I'll send him suggestive pictures of myself. His response was an impromptu picture from him. I don't remember suggesting he should, and it's funny how he thinks I'll crumble at the knees and willingly give him what he wants, naturally because I'm dazzled by the beauty of his contribution.
Oh well. The plot thickens, and men still confuse me.