I wish I had a time machine sometimes. Not for the general reason one would want a time machine though, such as meeting famous people, seeing a dinosaur or freaking the shit out of cavemen. I wish I could go back in time and kick the shit out of my former self. I would dominate my grade 7 self, who pretended to be Austin Powers for a while to try and get a girlfriend; I would pummel the 9 year old me for eating sandwiches thick with butter and sprinkled with white sugar. “Take that, you stupid little shit! Drop that muffin! Stop listening to Britney Spears’ first album! Put your cock away before people notice your problem!” Things might be different for me if I beat the shit out of my year 12 self.
I’ll explain. I was wound up with a certain girl for a long time. Crushing bad. This girl was my friend, and didn’t want a relationship with me. Enough said.
So, a different girl, let’s call her Charlotte, could have been the right girl. She was pretty, into the same things as me and actually liked me. She even told me one day that she liked me, and wouldn’t mind me as a boyfriend. Stupid me, chasing what I couldn’t have, turned the poor girl down. Then out of no-where, a giant bearded fellow smacked me in the temple with a crowbar. Or so I wish.
Instead, nothing happened. I became friends with Charlotte until school finished, and didn’t see her for a long time.
Fast forward a couple years; quite recently actually. I made contact with Charlotte through the world’s largest social website of all time. I had put on a couple of kilos, was shaving almost daily and was single. So was she. So we exchanged numbers and decided to catch up at my brother’s house and watch TV.
I was eager to impress. I put on my most expensive cologne. I readied my car to “impress her with my achievements” since school. I showered. I bought a bottle of scotch with 24carot gold plated writing. I was feeling pretty good.
After she drove around the street in a confused state trying to find where I was situated, I waited outside the apartment complex and flagged her down with my amazing talking ability, coupled with my natural talent of flailing my arms.
She got out, and looked amazing. Like, all the time I spent making myself look overweight and balding; she had spent that time becoming this beautiful woman. That was the point I wanted that goddamn time machine.
I should also note that I had a few to drink at this point. It seems to be the most re-occurring formula in my rich history of failing, but I see no connection between the two and have no plans to stop.
So we get inside and I chuck on South Park and we just talk and drink. She’s doing well for herself and, job speaking, so was I. As the time went on, she went through 3 medium drinks and I went through about 8 drinks that could have stripped paint. I was sweating, getting redder in the face and slurring every sentence. It was my ideal time to make a move. I was in my prime. No woman could resist me.
Sigh…So I decided to hold my hand out. IDIOT! I feel ill just recalling that point. What the hell was I thinking? Holding hands? Why? She looked at my hand, then at me, and then gave me this look that said “what the fuck are you doing?” Even now, I can’t answer properly.
Second move for this sweaty Casanova, was to play with her hair. I’m finding it hard to conjure up words to describe the ways that was inappropriate and awkward. Bless her she puts up with it, and I continue to “massage” her head while we continue talking about old times and such.
I try the hand thing a couple more times. Fail, fail, fail. It gets late and I just crash. I set up a makeshift bed for her on the couch, and I sleep on the hard carpet ground. I think she slept until she was rid of any alcohol left before she bailed, about 3 or 4am I think.
Have I learnt anything? Well, I learnt I cannot pick up or have any sort of interaction with girls like that. I learnt that people don’t have to think of you “in that way” forever and people move on. But mostly, I learnt nothing, because Charlotte is probably reading this now with all my inner thoughts bared to see. This marks an important post too, as:
1. I’m at work right now.
2. I’m not drunk.
So for now I’ll get back to getting money, probably one small thing I’m particularly good at. Also, I’m sort of distracted by the red telephone booth that has just popped up out of nowhere…