YUM YUM
Jet-lag, stress and a hangover are not usually the ingredients for a girl to look her best. But it doesn't seem to have done Veronica any harm.
It had been at least three years since I'd last seen her (drunk, and wobbling all over the dance-floor of the Atlantic Bar). And I was quickly reminded about what I'd been missing. She is painfully beautiful: five-ten, pure-perfect, bronzed skin from her recent travels; blonde hair that gleams; and a figure slimmer than any you'll find in northwest London. I just wanted to kiss her.
Twat that I am, I got a little lost on my way to hers. And then very lost on our way to the restaurant. Fucking Notting Hill! But it broke the ice. The restaurant was pleasant, if not a little over-priced. We talked, we ate and she drank. And drank and drank. In fact, she drank so much water I didn't know whether to be impressed at her bladder's retentive qualities (I imbibed about half what she did and had to pop to the loo twice vs her none) or blown away by how much alcohol she must have ingested the night before. Either way, she was hydrated by the time we parted. I hope I didn't have one of frequent bouts of verbal diarrhea.
Despite her obvious physical qualities, I could see why she was single. It all comes down to one organ: her brain. She has a very big one. She has a very powerful personality. Not over-bearing, and not un-nice - in fact, she's rather sweet. Veronica just has her head screwed on and clearly doesn't allow laggards to join her on her journey through life. Even so, she has a softer side, definitely one I want to explore further. But she doesn't give much away. She said lunch was lovely, but made no attempt to suggest that it was something that would be repeated. I hope it will be. She - and lunch - was yummy.
Jet-lag, stress and a hangover are not usually the ingredients for a girl to look her best. But it doesn't seem to have done Veronica any harm.
It had been at least three years since I'd last seen her (drunk, and wobbling all over the dance-floor of the Atlantic Bar). And I was quickly reminded about what I'd been missing. She is painfully beautiful: five-ten, pure-perfect, bronzed skin from her recent travels; blonde hair that gleams; and a figure slimmer than any you'll find in northwest London. I just wanted to kiss her.
Twat that I am, I got a little lost on my way to hers. And then very lost on our way to the restaurant. Fucking Notting Hill! But it broke the ice. The restaurant was pleasant, if not a little over-priced. We talked, we ate and she drank. And drank and drank. In fact, she drank so much water I didn't know whether to be impressed at her bladder's retentive qualities (I imbibed about half what she did and had to pop to the loo twice vs her none) or blown away by how much alcohol she must have ingested the night before. Either way, she was hydrated by the time we parted. I hope I didn't have one of frequent bouts of verbal diarrhea.
Despite her obvious physical qualities, I could see why she was single. It all comes down to one organ: her brain. She has a very big one. She has a very powerful personality. Not over-bearing, and not un-nice - in fact, she's rather sweet. Veronica just has her head screwed on and clearly doesn't allow laggards to join her on her journey through life. Even so, she has a softer side, definitely one I want to explore further. But she doesn't give much away. She said lunch was lovely, but made no attempt to suggest that it was something that would be repeated. I hope it will be. She - and lunch - was yummy.
posted by David Cohen at 6:53 am
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