Once every week I spend 30 minutes trying to decide what I should blog about.
This week started no differently.
I had narrowed it down to three possible contenders.
First , I considered blogging on the delightful fact that ,over the last three months, I had lost 6kg. True, It was hardly the stuff of triumphant tales but I was still happy. Three months after my mum’s scathing appraisal, I was safely back within the healthy walls of my BMI (That’s Body Mass Index thank you very much!). As far as health was concerned, my weight was normal. Even better whenever I wore a T-shirt I was paid compliments. A week ago Someone actually called me sexy. I didn’t let it get to me though. The sun was out and she probably was short sighted. But it was an appreciated compliment. Who cared if I was yet to get the required six packs demanded by the female populace ( to get that I probably would need to loose 2 more kilos and devote a month to the gym.). I certainly didn’t. It really wasn’t fair. A man had to work hard to get an appealing body. All a woman had to do was eat and the curves would appear. Curves on a woman was good. Fat settled on a man’s stomach leaving him looking like some distant relative of Santa.
On a woman it migrated gracefully to her hips leaving her the object of many late night fantasies.
The way to man’s heart was through the stomach.
I was beginning to suspect more and more that what was meant by that was one of two things.
Ignore his bulging stomach and he would fall in love with you.
Or Stuff your stomach and resultantly gain bewitichingly fantastic female hips.
Either pay little attention to his stomach or more to your stomach (and ultimately your hips and butt.)
Both would guarantee the attention and ownership of his cholesterol clogged heart.
One thing was certain. Curves on a lady were acceptable and attractive. On a guy it just was unhealthy and occasionally gay.
Men were fat. Women were just.…thick!
With my body nicely silhouetted in a T-shirt I figured blogging about my return to the appealing demographic would be a lovely idea.
It was certainly something to consider writing on.
Also worth considering was the happy situation that had developed between I and Andromeda. For the last two months we had spent every weekend together. The first three had been in a Salsa class laughing over our pathetic imitations of the dance instructors mesmerizing swivels. He swore under his breath as he struggle to make Matadors of us. Each time we failed, trampled beneath the raging bull of clumsiness and inexperience. It was fun but after the third lesson she had suggested we spent the next week doing something less tasking and still as much fun. The next weekend we met for Ice cream. We enjoyed our evening made up off slurping ice cream and chatting about our week’s tale that it pretty much became our default arrangement.
The Dance instructor didn’t miss us.
He never called back.
For the next 3 weeks she took me to her favorite ice cream spots. I have never been much of a fan of ice cream scoops but she sought to remedy that. I’ll admit I enjoyed the conversion process.
And why not? What is better than slurping ice cream with an attractive lady?
Rhetorical. You don’t have to answer Afrobabe.
The sane part of me points out that I might have lost more weight if I had abstained from so much ice cream but the whimsical side counters that what I might have gained in weight I would have lost in romantic blissful hours.
I have been lacking there lately you see.
And yes. The last 8 weeks has been fun. There was something between us two. I wasn’t sure what it was. But it was there. I was confused. I considered writing to Blogsville and asking for their opinion and advise.
It was something to be considered.
Finally a part of me longed to revisit the interesting world of Angel Mourinho. I had found myself missing him and his naivety. I wanted to see what he was up too. I had ideas of what that might be and I had hope that come this week I would share my ideas with my friends.
All that changed after Fantasy Queen’s post.
For those of you with confused frowns on your faces, Fantasy queen happens to be the moniker used by one us. She is a blogger. A delightful blogger whose page has always left me filled with interest and delight. Her last post was a still a delightful read but this time it had the added twist in that its interest was in me.
Fantasy Queen,, upon reading my recent Stolich encounter had ventured her opinion about Stolich and I.
It was not strange what she suggested—The hint that perhaps I and Stolich were more than just friends. The belief that eventually we would end up waking up one morning with 3 children and a wedding ring between us—I had heard it a lot of times and never once failed to laugh. Hearing her echo the views of people was not strange. What was strange (and eerily interesting) was she went on further to propose a speech which my eventual declaration of love (and Stolich’s grudged acceptance) would come with.
And the speech was good.
Very good actually.
So good in fact that I regret the fact that I am unable to use it.
Stolich and I are great friends with all the makings of a great romance. But Naapali and Afrobabe are right in their assessment. If I were to try an overture in a bid to ask for more she would break out into such unbelievable laughter God would wonder if he had accidentally cancelled the rapture.
As important as all this is what is important is that which I have kept on repeating.
I don’t want a relationship with Stolich. We’re like siblings she and I. I could no more imagine kissing her than I could my sister. And just as I can appreciate how lovely my sister looks without feeling the urge to make advances I am trapped in a similar lethargy as far as advances to Stolich are concerned. Stolich and I are more than friends. We’re great friends who will go through life comforted in the knowledge that in each other we have a friend , a best man and a window into the world of the opposite sexes when the need arises.
So yes. We’re great friends. But sadly we cant be more.
Despite the finality of things between us I was still deeply moved by the headiness of Fantasy Queen’s borrowed speech. I felt it would be such a waste if I let something so beautiful go to waste.
The problem with the speech was that it was tailored to only one scenario. I could only use the speech with someone ( a female) who happened to be my best friend. Since no one other than Stolich fitted that bill, I quickly realized that unless I did something drastic I would never get to use the speech.
And so I decided to do something about it.
What I needed, I immediately realized, was a new best friend. Someone whose company I could enjoy for another 2 years before breaking down into silly tears when I confessed that somewhere beneath the nights of watching movies and pillow fights I had somehow fallen madly deeply in love with her. I would look her in her eyes and read out the wordings of FQ’s speech word by word with the appropriate inflections where it was needed.
It seemed a good plan.
Much better than my idea of jumping off the second floor with an Umbrella.
Dont get me wrong,Jumping off the second floor was probably a lot safer than falling in love but the flight was rarely as nice.
I decided then that I would find a lovely girl. Make her my friend. And use the lovely speech when I realized I could no longer do without her.
I didn’t care how long it took.
Much admired actor, Billy crystal took 10 years in the classic “When Harry Met Sally.” Before professing his undying love. I would take my time.
But where to look?
Where did one find a girl who was willing to be best friends with an insanely ridiculous blogger who spent more time thinking about having a shower than he did actually having the shower?
Where did one find a girl cute enough to guarantee that I would fall in love with her?
How did one go about such adventures?
It seemed a pretty hopeless mission.
Everyone I approached seemed taken or unavailable.
Angelina was married to Brad.
Jlo was still married.
Audrey Hepburn was dead.
There seemed an unbelievable absence of volunteers.
And then, just as I was about to give up and request that blogville pick my next topic of blogging (thereby saving me another thirty minutes of weekly thought) I noticed an interesting fact.
I have only met two bloggers in my life time.
One of them is Fantasy queen. We met once. A contrivance by mutual friends of ours. We met at some Café in the palms. The café was sited a few feet from the movie theatres. Seating there I was guaranteed a first row glimpse of the beautiful girls that were on their way to watch movies. Dressed from outrageously brassy outfits to the demure I couldn’t deny the fact that most of the girls coming to watch movies were attractive. From my position I had a clear line of sight.
And then fantasy queen stepped into the café and sat opposite me.
I didn’t look at any other girl after that.
So here I am, months later , wondering who I could possibly become best friends with.
And suddenly I realize I know the answer to that question.
Hello fantasy Queen!
Will you be my Best Friend?