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The laugh part 1

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So now I'm in the process of editing my book to make it good, which sadly requires painful acts of deleting stuff what I wrote. Fortunately I can put them here and so people can still see them; huzzah! This blog may be getting a little out of order now though; I'll update the links on the right to help guide the reader through my mish mash of writing bits...

(ex)Chapter 14 - The Laugh

The cold of winter was still refusing to yield to the optimism of spring, and I was located in ‘cask bar’, where I was sitting at the bar, leaning on the bar, surveying the bar, sipping my beer from the bar, and waiting for my date to join me... at the bar.


I hadn’t been particularly proactive in arranging this date. A girl called Meadow had messaged my normal profile making peppy and sarcastic comments about one of my pictures. I had replied in kind. Her pictures weren’t particularly inspiring; either taken when she was standing too far away from the camera or pulling weird expressions that distorted her face. These were the sort of pictures that suggested an excess of personality, perhaps reliant on Ritalin to remain functional[1].

Anyway after some sporadic discussion we eventually got around to scheduling a meet. After only a short period of sitting in the drinking establishment and practising my beer staring, I registered movement in my peripheral vision. I turned to see if it was my date. My eyes widened with mild disbelief as I beheld her; the expression ‘hot stuff’ may have filtered through my consciousness. Long brunette hair ran down over her shoulders; smooth and straight as if it came straight out of a shampoo advert. Looking at its shine I could almost hear a soothing background voice of a commercial narrator talking about “anti-oxidants”, “follicle rejuvenation”, and other nonsense, and then telling me: “because you’re worth it!”

Her face was pretty too, like many pretty faces I’m not sure I can describe the specific characteristics that made it pretty. However the absence of any remarkable features, like a crooked nose or giant eyebrows, are perhaps what best qualifies a face for the accolades of prettiness and motivates the launching of ships et cetera. She was also smiling when I first caught her eye, which almost always makes a pretty girl look prettier. I couldn’t say if I would have laid siege to Troy for her just yet, but I was certainly glad we had arranged this date.

We sat at the bar, drank beer, and chatted, and I realised she had an awesome personality as well; smart, bubbly, lots to talk about. She was still studying computer science at NYU and in the process of applying to various big named tech companies. She complained that all her housemates were in acting school and were therefore terrible. I complained that the only people I saw everyday were scientists, and that there were sometimes whole workdays where the most riveting conversation I had was just an exchange of the word “Hi!”

Despite the good conversation and frequent laughs I picked up on an undercurrent of shyness, though I suppose one might expect this from a first date. Anyway I didn’t want to scare away the pretty girl, so I didn’t mention the kinky sex interests, or hint about a second profile. I didn’t even make any concerted attempts to get near her face with my mouth, and when the date concluded after a couple of drinks I hugged her goodbye with an earnest agreement to do something again soon.


[1] It’s funny the wildly inaccurate stories you make up about someone in your head without even realising.

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