Sultry

Part Four

After she finished disentangling her life, Sultry took a quick sip of her tepid latte and asked way too suddenly “So what about you?”

Don’t you hate that?!

 It’s like dragging a stunned audience member from an Irish show onto the stage and expecting them to riverdance. I had been so completely absorbed by her hectic ramblings that me, myself and my life in narrative had vaporised. I was nothing more than a couple of suction punctures on a cranium, a spongy speechless scamp. I stuttered out a few routine sentences about my latest floating occupation.

Distracted by a burnt tongue (from sipping fervently whilst exhibiting wild enthusiasm for her life accounts), I fortunately had an exit strategy: it was lunch break. After politely excusing myself, I power walked back to work, certain I had dusted my chances of a beach vacation.

Sultry was interesting, I was dull. First dates are like job interviews – go prepared. And I usually do. Usually so suave. Usually the conversation driver. Not used to the missus taking over like that.

Amazingly, she had found my lacked preparation and nippy exodus dazzling. Several text messages later (and one short airport summit) I learned quickly that: less was more (for a girl like her). I was admittedly a little bit hooked on her too. She was crafted so perfectly from an Australian mould: blondey hair, whitey grin and biggy biceps! I don’t mind a shapely woman, but when an athlete walks in a room I am a goner. Finished. Ruined.

But the thing about her (that got me in the guts) was a passionate, misdirected glitter she used as part of her trained surface appearance. Meanwhile, a destructive liquefying boulder was idling just below, waiting to detonate. A menacing wild beast with a twinkly smile in designer threads, she attracted chaos to her personal life out of boredom. She thought I was bad. The longer it took her to realise otherwise, the healthier my tan would be.

To Be Continued...