I read that you can sell anything to someone if you mimic them subtly; for instance if you are sitting opposite someone at an arms fair trying to sell your set of Tiger Tanks with cute matching camoflage edging you would do well to watch and then do what your prospective buyer does. He crosses his arms, you cross your arms, she rubs her nose , you rub your nose. See what I mean?
Last night at about 2am on a dance floor in Camberwell I decided to try and sell myself to the man I was dancing with. In case this sounds a bit odd you will need to factor in the 200000 units of white wine I had imbibed previous to the experiment. The man I was dancing with was a lovely old friend who I had a crush on when I was a teenager. He has never expressed any particular interest in me other then in a matey way so I thought, what the hell, I would mimic him dancing and see if that would make me suddenly very, very sexy to him..
Problem is this nice man cannot dance. At all. At all at all.
Soooo by mimicking him, I, who am known for my shuffleishousness on the dance floor, looked as if I was taking the piss.
Problem was the 20000 units of wine made me think the experiment was working and his look of humiliated rage was actually a come hither lear. Poor chap. I nipped off for a quick pee and when I cam back he was cowering weeping behind the bar.
Don’t worry – I ended up canoodling with some huge hunk with tree trunk biceps instead. Apparently he is no longer allowed English girlfriends as he has to marry a girl from his village in Nigeria (even though he is a second generation Londoner) but I know how to snog in Yoruba. So there.
A cracking night in all honesty hosted by my gorgeous Zambian pals, the Munyamas in honour of their joint 40th birthdays. There was a great collection of peoples from all over the place and I felt completely safe and able to use my cane without feeling like a freak when I needed and not use it when I didn’t. (see above)
By the way, I STILL have not heard about the sodding job. Can you Adam and Eve it? I called to ask them to let me know if it was just because my ‘letter was in the post’ but turns out they haven’t made a decision yet.
Ooooo aaarrr…the tension.
Anyway just in case I found an even better job possibility and have applied for that instead. Ha!
Meanwhile I gaze desultorily (how DOES that word work as a verb?) at my bank account and make plans to cut back on the fluffy bits – subscriptions and stuff. Just until I am earning again. One day just know I'll have enough money not to feel nauseous when I walk past Barclays.