My school days (and the rest of my life as it would happen) would be dominated by disastrous advances towards the opposite sex including one instance of obtaining information regarding the whereabouts of a certain beauty I was fond of. On looking back, I can’t recall ever having spoken one word to her but, in true form I could swear this was meant to be. It was love.
Straight from the shop with a box of chocolates plus card, I made my way through her town before realising I’d forgotten one vital detail. Her address was still sitting on a coffee table in my bedroom. Can’t be that hard to find, I think to myself as I chap on the first of about three hundred doors.
Each time I ask for her then ask if they know where she lives without success before arriving at a door where I’m greeted by one angry, deranged father looking at my like he’s eaten a cold turd. His three year old daughter happens to share exactly the same name and I have about five seconds to explain myself nervously before tip-toeing towards the next house feeling somewhat foolish.
Eventually after another few streets of nothing, a friend from school opens his door and invites me inside. Putting my feet up I begin to explain my predicament. “She lives next door”, I’m told and breathing one long, happy sigh of relief, I drain my cup of tea and set off to complete my mission.
Receiving no answer, I lay the card underneath the chocolates in an effort to avoid a strong gust of wind from blowing my message of love into the garden of a certain knuckle-dragging swamp monster and make my way home where I wait for Monday to come. Before the weekend draws to a close I’m dealt one deadly piece of news from the so called friend who’d originally given me her address.
On knowing what I had planned, that furry little fuck-weasel had thought it funny to tell her I was a mad stalker and out to get her. If she wasn’t already freaked out then she would be now.
I never did get a chance to talk to her. I do however, know that she is married now with two children, listens to Otis Redding and likes cycling. So let’s hear it for the age of Facebook stalking!