Saturday, 25 October 2014

I, er, have a hosiery fetish...

For 20 minutes today I chatted to a lovely chap on OKC. We talked about horror movies, the kind of music we like and how we like our tea.

It seemed to be going well.

I had a good feeling about this one.

And then this happened:

ME: So, what do you do for fun? (after he had asked me what I do for fun and I had responded with the usual: reading, writing, dog stuff blah blah).

HIM: Do you want the vanilla answer?

ME: Oh god, you're going to talk about sex aren't you.

HIM: Are you intrigued?

ME: Not really. I only asked what you do for fun. You know. Bowling maybe? Cinema?

HIM: I, er, have a hosiery fetish.

ME: Bit soon doncha think mate?

HIM: You're so boring.

ME: Sigh.

BLOCK.

It's not that he has a fetish. Lordy, don't we all. I mean, I don't. Pure as the driven snow. But really? 20 minutes in? When all you've spoken about so far is horror films and tea?

Even if I had been looking for a quick bang behind the bins or a bit of online how's yer father, it takes a BIT longer than that to warm me up.

Straight from Carrie's good isn't it, yes it is good, I like Stephen King to HEAR ABOUT MY TIGHTS FETISH, is so crass. So teenage. So lacking in finesse and style.

Oh no, sorry, it's not that. It's me. I'm BORRRRRRRRRRRRRRINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNG.

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