Today, I drove to work, my stomach knotted up with nerves. I’d decided I was going to ask Mr Haemorrhoid out. But what if he turned me down? What then?
The screeching of shock jock Curly Mackaw on the radio interrupted my train of thought. Curly, who was in the middle of judging a Whose Got the Biggest Haemorrhoid? competition, could be funny, albeit in a rather crude way, but I had an additional reason to tune in. The show was sponsored by Villorex, allowing me a tenuous, rather pathetic connection with Mr Haemorrhoid on my morning commute.
“We’ve got contestant number six here, bent over, and oh sweet Jesus, I think I’m going to lose my breakfast,” squealed Curly. “Good God! It’s as big as a golf ball. You say you’ve had it three years? Well, let me tell you, Pete Johnson, you are a very strong contender to win five thousand pounds and a lifetime’s supply of Villorex haemorrhoid cream.”
Wiping the dreadful vision of the golf ball sized haemorrhoid from my mind, I replaced it with the much more edifying image of Mr Haemorrhoid. No, he wouldn’t turn me down, I told myself firmly. Now it would simply be a matter of days before he kissed me, before he wrapped me in those big, strong arms and told me he’d been in love with me from the very first moment he clapped eyes on me …
The car behind beeped. Snapping out of my reverie, I noticed I’d been sitting at a green light, deep in contemplation. Get a grip, I told myself, nosing my pale blue SUV into the flow of traffic. Now Curly was screaming about a haemorrhoid that looked like Yoda. And there was more screaming awaiting me when I got to work. I was in the tiny kitchen, making myself a cup of coffee, when Mr Haemorrhoid, all six foot three, dark hair, piercing blue eyes and panty-melting Irish accent, wedged himself in beside me and started ranting.
“Did you hear it, that haemorrhoid competition on The Curly Mackaw Show?”
“Yeah, I did,” I said, inhaling him hungrily. His scent, citrusy aftershave mixed with the fresh sweat that shimmered at his temples, made me long to grab his tie and just reel him in, inch by inch, until we were face to face, mouth to mouth.
Connor was looking at me expectantly, clearly waiting for me to continue, so I said, “Great brand recognition for Villorex, wouldn’t you say?”
“No I would not.” He loosened his tie a fraction. It was the middle of flipping August, and while the rest of the office was in polo shirts and chinos, he was roasting, all done up like a turkey in foil that’s just been pulled from the oven. “Haemorrhoids are not a joke. Those poor contestants. They should have seen a doctor years ago. Villorex can’t save them now. When I did that sponsorship deal for Curly’s show, there was no mention of a contest. This is so not the kind of publicity I need for Villorex.”
I spooned instant coffee into two mugs. God it was exciting, to be standing next to someone who was so passionate, so ready to blow. It was getting very steamy in here, and the steam definitely wasn’t coming from the kettle, as I had flicked off the switch, preferring to stir the coffee granules into hot but not boiling water, as it saved me burning my mouth. I poured water into the mugs and looked at him coquettishly.
“You seem like you need to relax.”
He snorted. “Fat chance of that. I could brain that Curly Mackaw, I really could.”
I gave him my most alluring smile and said softly, “How about a quick one, after work?” Then, realizing what I’d said, I swiftly added, “I mean, a drink.”
“Look Scarlett, I’d love to, but I’m going to be working late doing damage limitation on this Curly thing.” He picked up his coffee and wandered off.
“Of course. I understand,” I said to his retreating back. Like hell I did. What in God’s name was so wrong with me that I was playing second fiddle to a haemorrhoid competition?
I stormed into my office and slammed my coffee onto my desk.
Fine, I thought. From now on I would no longer expend my energies flirting with a man who was clearly disinterested.
Mr Haemorrhoid was history.
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Grrr.... Mr Haemmorhoid playing it cool just fuels my fire and makes me want him all the more, even though rationally I know I’m going to get burned…don’t you think?
1 comment:
Well he does seem very career focused. Do you think our heroine has created this fantasy all in her mind? Has Mr. H taken a moment to look up from his creams to notice our eager (hoping to be) adulteress? But you know women, the harder they have to work for it, the more they want it. Can't wait to hear how our lady will spark Mr. H's interest.
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