Grumpy, useless post office employees? Probably just need to get laid too.

Today I caught a sweet glimpse of the kind of person I would be if I just got laid.

And it’s not the customer-hating, hostile banshee you have come to know in oh so much detail…

Today at work, I overheard a woman say to her friend “why don’t you ask that helpful girl if they have any of those trousers” and I was bristling with indignation at their sarcasm… when it dawned on me that it was not sarcasm. I had actually been helpful and friendly. Faces lit up as I found them items they loved… wallets yawned and spilled out willing notes and coins.. I even let a dog in my shop. I always hate on the dogs because, fuck people who think they can bring dogs shopping. For many reasons. But this dog looked kind of like my old dog, it had that same gormless face with a permanently put-out expression… I even pet it awkwardly on the head. A woman with a little boy in a pram… the boy was seriously cute. I smiled at him generously, imagining what sort of hot man he might one day become. He went all shy and I thought fondly how all the men I knew who had screwed me over cruelly and broken my little heart before I went all badass and independent, were once cute little faces in prams smiling up at bigger people. Another woman entered the shop and asked if she might be permitted to look at the shoes that were right in front of her. Ordinarily I just answer “yeah, of course..” in a tone that is supposed to imply that their question was stupid and superfluous, but probably only makes me seem like a grumpy bitch who needs to get laid. (yeahhh…) Today, my high spirits led me down the “dad-joke” route. It’s an unfortunate side effect of my cheerful moods- I make lame jokes that inferior people like. Like old women. So I told her “no, you have to look at the scarves!” in a jolly voice that left no room for suspicion of rudeness. Her sides split with chuckles. I honestly prefer myself grouchy and sarcastic, but I suppose it can’t hurt my street cred too much to indulge the part of me that could get along with more people if only I respected them enough to bother.

You may be wondering why the sudden outpourings of good will. Let me assure you, my 6 month hymen has not been shattered. My regrown cherry remains unpopped. The cobwebs of my post-marriage spinsterhood have not yet been parted. But it’s all looking very promising indeed.

But it’s going to happen.

I’m making it my mission to get laid. Back home… back home is where I blend in with all the other fuck ups. Where men expect some kind of crazy, and maybe even consider it a plus in the bedroom. No need to fear me getting needy and expecting flowers and a phone call after. (well…)  I’ve been doing it all wrong for months, complaining about these frigid poetic Italians…. Ahhh I’ve been so stupid about it all. I should have just gone home and gone out and fucked someone. It was so easy back there… I was a filthy slut and it was all good in the hood… I’ve been barking unsuccessfully up the wrong tree. I shouldn’t have been barking up a tree at all. The cats I have apparently been trying to fuck just clamber higher into the canopy, terrified and unseduced. Because back home, the cats might even purr and recognise me and know what to expect and notice I lost weight AND became tidier in my lady garden. Ok they can stop being cats now.

So all day long I have a smile on my face, I’m nice to people, smug in the knowledge that it’s only a matter of time. Time, and effort. Two things I really don’t harvest very well ordinarily. But it’s a time of great change for me. I can do it.

And this morning I stopped off at the bar where hot barman works, in a short dress barely covering the hum of the newly stirring engine… He guessed my order. So I went with the chicken sandwich with cheese, even though I had planned for something more salad-y. Fuck the diet pill side effects. I can take it. (Really not pleasant) I drank my coffee and he handed me the sandwich in its bag. In a low voice, leaning towards me as if there were some secret, he asked me “And how are you? All Good?” with that thrilling too hot for me by far smile. I said yes and flashed him what was probably a coy smile but I’m not an expert on coy… Our eyes met. Our eyes shook hands, and our eyes kind of fucked for a moment. Oh, that was an intense look. It lasted a few seconds longer than a non-sexual exchanged glance. Definitely happened. Not my imagination. I know this. I know it was definitely an “I want to fuck you” gaze. Oh yes. And I didnt look away. I was emboldened by my nether regions in their constant state of readyness. I held it and gave him my absolute best seductive eye moves. I actually am really good at seduction with my eyes, or at least I think I am. I always wonder exactly how subtle or obvious my eye seduction is. Can a guy tell from my fuck me stare that I want to fuck, as well as I can tell from the fact that he is looking at me that he wants to fuck me? And do I even have that power of insight or am I just seriously egotistical… Probably a little of both.

But I did not misread this.

It was the most concrete definite fucking yes signal I ever gave to/ received from hot barman. And it’s probably because I am mind numbingly horny for someone else right now. He just picked up some of the excess radiation from another man’s fithy sweet nothings. Now I need to create the opportunity for him to ask me out…. maybe if i hang out by the toilets long enough, he’ll go in to clean them and then I can follow him and we can have romantic alone time. And he’ll drop the mop and his pants and I’ll be all like “oh hot barman, what is the meaning of this!” and he’ll be like, “We’re all out of chicken sandwiches, so I hope you don’t mind Italian sausage”… but actually that scenario isn’t sitting right with me because hot barman isn’t like that. I’d be more likely to use the line about sausage. And he probably wouldn’t find that appealing. He’s really really hot and doesn’t look at all sleazy or disgusting and you know the story with hot barman…. A long drawn out pile of barely there sexual tension that could easily just be politeness.. but won’t go there. Deep breaths. I’m boarding the f-plane in just a week and a half. It’s torture I just want to be there now and put on my heels and launch myself at some blurry man shape… But in the meanwhile I will frequent my hot barman’s bar and hopefully leave a trail of horny vibes that will last until I get back and have no more trip home to look forward to.

And then I was mooning over all my dirty plans… and a hot air conditioner maintenance guy comes in to fix my air conditioner. I was half expecting some porno backing music and for a hot woman to pop out of the changing room with just a towel covering her and for us all to have a threesome while saying really cheesy lines to each other relating to air conditioner and our inability to pay for the service and so we would have to fuck for it or something. But he was flirtatious all right, and I realised that i was probably still giving the sexy smile I had on since the morning with hot barman and all the time I was thinking over my dirty messages. So I was starting to consider whether I would add a third potential fuck to the mix because he was giving me all the right signals (I think) and then he was like, you used to work in The Ukelele Emporium (name of shop changed to protect my identity), didn’t you. and I’m like, yes I did. And he says ah I remember you from last year when I fixed the air conditioner there. And I’m like, yeah you do, stranger, I’m fucking memorable. And he’s like where are you from, and are you on your own here? And I’m like, well I have family here. and he’s like… well, last year, didn’t you have a boyfriend? And I didn’t imediately get the hint because I am very very stupid and I was like no I was married. And he’s like oh! was? And I’m like yeah we split up, but of course I am still married until blah blah sort it all out. And he’s like wow… then he says this phrase I didn’t get, it was something like “I don’t want to put my hand in the cake” or something like that, and the meaning seemed to be like, I don’t want to get involved… so I took it that he didn’t want to be nosy asking questions, and I was like ah don’t worry it’s fine, I don’t mind. And he was kind of amused but he said, ok well I’m off, bye, see you next time. And then I realised he meant, I don’t want to get involved like I don’t want to get involved in your messy divorce that is clearly quite recent and who knows what your husband will do? Or something like that. As in, he would have asked me out otherwise. So anyway fucked that one up big time, but it would have been weird anyway if I did go out with him… it would of course end badly and then I’d have to see him once a year on air conditioner maintenance day. And I couldn’t be having that kind of awkwardness.

But hot barman has to have gotten the hint today. I couldn’t have reeked more of sexual desire if I had inserted my hand into my vagina, swished around a bit and then approached hot barman with the plea of “SMELL MY FINGER”.

And on that note, because I like to leave you with a nice image, I bid you good night for now.


2 responses to “Grumpy, useless post office employees? Probably just need to get laid too.

  1. A happy MFO I didn’t think this was completely possible. But do you SEE what happens MFO? Do you?! A sexy smile, odd happiness, and all these guys just start lining up. Though I have zero idea what the fuck “sticking my hand in the cake,” means.

    But hey Hot Barman! About god damn time. I’ve been rooting HB would finally get it through his thick head. Should have flirted with him longer, make that guy sweat.

    And thanks for yet another scarring mental image. You’re real “fucking memorable.”

    • ho yes! (Ooh, typo but I like it.) We’re holding out hope that some day I will have permission to take a photo of hot barman, and then once I have that, the shrine will be complete and I can leave him alone, let him back to his normal unstalked life where he isn’t unwittingly plagued by my dirty fantasies. Jeez I wonder how many fucked up weirdos have similar unwarranted fantasies about me? Probably, like, a lot. Holy crap I’ve never really thought about that. There are probably thousands of men I don’t like, fapping to my unlicenced image, as I run amok in their minds, doing and taking all sorts of deviant acts…. oh no!!! Actually kind of like it. But feel a little raped. Ok tomorrow back to hot barman, going to slip a nip or something if I have to.

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