Skate Date

For months, one of Coma HQ's cleaning ladies, called the Blonde Beast by FCN (trust her to come up with apt nicknames. Incidentally, they all seem to begin with a "b" as she -even more aptly- christened another common acquaintance "Bog Breath") has been trying to fix me up with one of the security guys, hinting that he has been secretly pining for me for ages. Being me, I immediatly reported everything she told me back to him verbatim, which promted him to wind her up some more. She allegedly recommended him to smile more and pay me more compliments even though I'd told her right at the beginning she was wasting her energy on this little "project" of hers.

It was good fun while it lasted and we *are* rather starved for entertainment here, you must now.

Somewhere along the line I started to suspect he might in fact not be entirely impartial to the idea or, in other words, desperate enough to seriously consider me for the vacancy in his private life. He surprised me with a bunch of flowers for my birthday which I found very sweet indeed. I might have thanked him a tad too profusely as two days later he asked me if I'd go ice-skating with him. As I hadn't been skating at all this season, I thought I might as well. After all, it was hardly as "intimate" a setting as a cinema. Right?

Skating we went this Wednesday and it was nice but there he was, looking at me, puppy-eyed, saying "Not in a million years did I think you'd actually say "yes". Oh-oh. When I got home, I got the obligatory text thanking me for a nice evening saying he was looking forward to repeating the experience. Cue, blunt and slightly brutal message in order not to raise his hopes.

He's on vacation this week and I've toyed with the idea of mentioning the flowers and the skate date to the Blonde Beast to put her into wedding planner overdrive. Something held me back, though.

I'm obviously loosing my bitch mojo.