Alliteration Aplenty

Last night I unexpectedly produced a pong-free poo which was doubly fantastic because it came out at a boy’s house and therefore the normal fears of causing asphyxiation, and/or repulsion, on him entering the bathroom too soon after I had vacated it were left redundant. I look forward to seeing if future faeces are fragrance free or whether this was just a once in a lifetime occurrence. If it was merely an odour oversight then I will be sad I never got to share it with anyone. Rest assured should it happen again and you are within a one mile radius you will be expected to attend a viewing/sniffing (and that includes you, boy whose house I was at).

Public Transport Paranoia

When I'm on a bus I get a tiny bit upset when two free seats become available and the person sitting next to me moves. I take it personally and wonder what I did wrong, "Am I unsightly? Do I smell?" when I know full well I showered and deodorised that morning. Unless I'm really pooped and need a window seat to stop my head from lolling about I tend to stay put when the free seat situation arises so not to offend my travelling partner. I am sure they'd prefer me to leave but I'd rather stay put so they feel loved.

This morning I had the most wonderful bus experience I think I've ever had, on London transport at least. I was next to the window and a beany-hatted, plaid-trouser-wearing, guitar-holding man sat next to me. An excellent experience in itself but wait, it gets better. This fellow forfeited SEVEN sets of free seats by the end of the journey. I have never seen the phenomenon of that many free seats on a morning bus journey but that is besides the point. I was so happy I nearly told him I loved his trousers (they reminded me of my favourite pair of pyjama bottoms) and wondered if it would be inappropriate to hold his hand. You'll be pleased to know I settled for prolonging the leg to leg contact that occurred when the bus turned a sharp corner (this may have been when the driver nearly ran over a little girl). This is what I have to resort to these days to get male physical contact - either touching them on public transport or going to partnered dance classes where you get held by a multitude of men without them expecting to get in your pants. Ideal.

Sadly he didn't get off at my stop but I smiled at him as he let me out and then we had a moment through the window. Aah.

I regret not complimenting his trousers.