If any two people could be at more opposite ends of the scale than Sophisticated Aussie and Exotically Named Three-Date-Fling, I’ll eat my new boots.
A couple of nights ago, in amidst fielding texts from the refined Antipodean, I received one from the other one. (NB: The one who has pestered me regularly, since May, in the pursuit of “sexy pictures”, despite my constant sarcastic rebuffs.)
Not to be thwarted until at least the 306th attempt, ENTDF sent me this: “I finally have an iPhone so if you want to send a sexy pic, please, by all means do so.”
“Thanks for the kind offer, but think I’ll pass,” I replied.
“Don’t be shy, you can hide your face,” he swiftly suggested in response.
ERM? What the…? Why doesn’t he just get some DVDs in? Trawl the net? Where does he get off? (In fact, don’t answer that.)
“Charming!” I replied. “All your needs can be catered for on the internet, dear.”
I got a stroppy little SMS back an hour later: “I meant so no-one knows it’s you! Okay, I won’t ask you again.” I particularly love the element of emotional blackmail in this one.
And that was that.
I think if I were to put ENTDF and SA in a man version of a food blender and whizz them all up it might just result in the perfect man.
Either that or a disgusting, sludgy pool of sick.
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