His name was Gianluca, and he was exactly the type you aren't supposed to like: bolshy, demanding, and uncompromising. He was the kind to push you to your absolute limits; he'd have you questioning your own self, experimenting with the ways he could disarm you with his blistering blue eyes and cheeky wink, juxtaposed against his quick-wit and debilitating honesty. Just as you thought you couldn't possibly take anymore of his tricks of the mind he’d have a habit of catching you as you are about to metaphorically fall, gently slipping his hand into yours as you walk in the garden. You’d meander in contented silence, the dynamic redefined by this new intimacy, until the games began again and you are more perplexed than you were before this small gesture of togetherness. He was exhausting, and confusing, and six years old. Six. Six year olds are my thing. I've run workshops on teaching six year olds. I have a job teaching six years olds come the autumn. I've done it...
Ahahahaha! Reminds me of the day me and my teammates in work were discussing what sort of medical supplies we had between us in the office. They were like "I have painkillers", "I have plasters" . . . I said "I have tampons."
ReplyDeleteI'm the only female in a team of six. It was met with an awkward silence...
P- boys don't like to think of 'The Flood'. And it hurts me that that is also the name of Cheryl Cole's new single. Poor boys. x
ReplyDeleteHappens to you, too, eh. Some people are just too precious.
ReplyDeleteIan- aint they just? x
ReplyDelete