Nice weekend.
COLD weather. This morning it was nine degrees C. Brrr. And blowing a gale. I know because our handy little inside/outside thermometre told me so. Thank you maroonedinaustin. So I added a jumper as I walked out the door to soccer. I should have added thermal underwear, a beanie, gloves, and those handwarmer thingys you get when you're skiing. Safe to say while my speech acclimated to australian life so too did my internal thermometre. Popsicle girl observes soccer match. Shaking like a leaf has new meaning for me. And I now long for an espresso machine with verve.
______________________________________________________________________
He said I was hot.
He meant it as a compliment. It was not one. Not that I have issues about how I look. I don't. I'm firm where I need to be and soft where I should be. I don't have extra weight hanging out, any that I had vacated during the divorce. I don't think I am hot, but I am damn sure not bad. When a married guy tells you that though, not good. I am offended on so many levels. Not the least of which is I just don't go there, you are married, hit the road jack, I will not even respond to your quasicompliment. The next time I see you though, should you make the same type of comments again, I hope you are ready, you'll be that little bug that unfortunately flew in front of the windshield when the car was going 80mph.
And I will still be hot very far away from you.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment