10 February, 2011

The Swarthy Man

So recently, I was out with some pals.  We landed at an utterly fabulous venue, which I cannot name for reasons that will soon become obvious.  At the end of the evening, as we were leaving, I met The Swarthy Man.

The Swarthy Man owns the venue, and was largely a very unattractive fellow.  Apart from being excessively hirsute, and somewhat squat, he was also one of those men I despise - a rich fellow who thinks money is all it takes to be interesting and attractive.

Here's how the conversation went.

Swarthy Man:   So are you married? Single? What.
DeadFishFloat:  Well, single actually.
SM:  Give me your number and I might call you some time.
DFF:  Might?  How about this, I'll give you my name and if you want to call me, you'll work out the rest.
SM:   No, really, give me your number (goes to the bar, gets pen and paper for me to write it down).
DFF:  (writes name only on paper).  I'm on Facebook.
SM:   What if I'm not on Facebook?
DFF:   Well that, my friend, is not my problem.
And with that, I left the building.*


I don't think I've ever done anything cooler in all my life.  I felt like Lauren Bacall. 

Lauren Bacall.  Possibly the coolest woman who ever lived. 
Until now.

*I would, at this juncture, like to thank the universe for not making me fall over, drop my handbag and have lipsticks and tampons go rolling across the floor, or have any other embarassing mishap occur as I was strutting smugly from the room. 

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