“Now, where was I? Oh yes, hurtling out of the friend zone at break-neck speed in a manner risking not only my dignity but also the structural integrity of my fresh blowout (it’s impossible to say which prospect upsets me more – ugh, don’t make me choose!!!)
Pictured: Fenella’s concerned not only about her dignity but also the structural integrity of her fresh blowout.
This paediatrician has been a thorn in my side since day #1 and I don’t even have a Tiffany ring to show for it – what gives?! I mean honestly this man blows hotter and colder than my kitchen sink. First, he’s all aloof and hard to get, then he’s all bringing my mortal enemy to my own book club to make me jealous, THEN he has the audacity to give me the worst kiss I’ve ever been subjected to before ambushing me with a delightfully romantic gesture, and turning out to be actually really not a bad kisser after all. Ahh, what a tale of love and loss to regale the grandchildren with…
Nursing a killer hangover after all of those tequila shots – I’ve removed myself from my flat to get some fresh air, and I’m writing this from my local coffee shop. I come here to look executive and thoughtful (and to post cute pics on my Instagram.) I decided I needed to mull over this whole thing properly, so I ordered myself a matcha latte and got straight down to business.
I’d put my best ‘I’m not hungover’ makeup on and, despite being exhausted and fit to bursting with emotions, the outfit was on fleek. My secret? Wearing activewear with absolutely zero intention of being active in it – works like a charm.
Objectively speaking this whole encounter has been a total farce. What in fresh hell is going on?! Whatever happened to boy meets girl? This isn’t the rom-com storyline I signed up for. I don’t even know what to feel anymore – I’m angry but strangely aroused, and verging on confessing my undying love for him; but then again, I could just be hungry and I—
Apologies for cutting off there, but in my scrawling haste I knocked my diary clean off the table before it was hastily scooped up by a complete stranger. Within milliseconds I’d already imagined what our wedding would be like (dusty colour palette, tasteful foliage fringing, rampant dancing).
Pictured: To get some fresh air and some cute pics for her insta, Fenella headed to her local coffee shop.
“Careful with that,” he cooed, casting a glance at my handwritten pages, “wouldn’t want it getting into the wrong hands.”
To which, I let out what can only be accurately described as a guffaw. And not an endearing, cutesy one – think DONKEY. It also lasted far too long.
He had kind eyes and an Irish accent. All my defences were down. I was sweating out of my head.
He placed my diary back on the table (I’ve never been more jealous of a pink notebook) and whispered: “If he’s messing you about – he’s clearly not worth it.”
Before I could decide whether I was enthralled or irritated at this unsolicited dating advice, my mouth surprised me by actually saying something vaguely witty.
“Well, you would say that – wouldn’t you?”
“Moi?” He feigned outrage. It was adorable. “If you’re such a good judge of character, matcha latte, why don’t you give me your number and we’ll both find out if I’m worth it.”
Earth to Fenella, earth to Fenella – you likely haven’t spoken in six minutes. Pick your jaw off the floor and respond to the nice man who is trying to date you.
Pictured: “Pick your jaw off the floor and respond to the nice man who is trying to date you.”
“Why don’t we just find out right now?”
WHAT AM I DOING? This is so unlike me. It’s so impulsive and sexy and oh, maybe I am just hungry again…
Diary, I will always be grateful to you for falling off the table at exactly the right moment to bring this man into my life.
I’ve never laughed so much at jokes that weren’t my own. Everything was going swimmingly. I was being the perfect blend of quirky and likeable (a little thing I like to call the Zooey Deschanel equilibrium) and we were getting on like a house on fire.
The figurative house was so figuratively on fire that as we got up to leave, he asked me what I was doing later… later?! So direct – no game playing just straight to the point.
“I, er–”
“You’re coming for a drink with me, that’s what you’re doing.”
Hm. A little pushy, but we’ll roll with it. Come on Fenella – if in doubt, flirt it out (that is terrible life advice).
“Oh, am I now?” I reply, coy as a domesticated fish commonly found in an ornamental pond.
“Well, if you need convincing–”
And he just kissed me. Plain as day. Right in the middle of the coffee shop. Let me tell you something, diary, fireworks would be an understatement. I blinked my eyes open as if waking from a reverie and there was a distant noise which was growing clearer and clearer.
Pictured: “Let me tell you something, diary, fireworks would be an understatement.”
Still staring into coffee shop stranger’s eyes, I realised we were drawing quite a crowd – mainly because we were stood in the main walkway of the café and no one could squeeze around us, but there was something else, too—
“Fenella? Is that you?”
Trusting that the kiss hadn’t rendered me completely incapable of balancing, breathing and moving my feet all at the same time, I swung myself around straight into none other than Dr. Dreamboat.
Remember, that same irksome PHD who kept changing his mind about whether he was fanciable or not? The one I was scribbling incessantly about in my diary not so long ago? Former (and possibly future) father to my imaginary brood? Yep. There he was. Apparently having watched me snog a total stranger in a public place less than 12 hours after we sucked face (gross).
The options available to me were pretend I was giving the handsome Irishman mouth-to-mouth resuscitation (convincing), go hard on the nonchalance and don’t even acknowledge the awkwardness or my third option – bolt out of the café, without paying for my matcha lattes.
Want to hazard a guess at which one I chose?
Yours forever,
Fenella xxx”