Otherwise it’s a similar story: he’s funny, not interested, and, all of a sudden, everywhere I go.
Like at a friend’s party the other day, I walk in, and he’s the first person I see. It’s not surprising really. The guy’s wearing yellow: you can’t miss him.
After our last meeting (tomato red) I’d decided he doesn’t fancy me. Unfortunately I still fancy him; of course I do. He’s funny – I might have said – and, well, what more do you need? Physically, he’s not my type at all, but as we know, I don’t have a type.
So yeah, I’m pretty certain the guy isn’t interested, unless he’s playing that old game of avoiding speaking to you because he err likes you, which for the record isn’t a game at all but a theory which women made up to give themselves hope.
Things don’t improve when, at the party, I find myself in a group with Toby, Redhead, and a girl (a religious reader of this blog, I should get her cloned). I can’t remember what Toby says, but I jump down his throat, as is my tendency since… anyway, so I suspect this makes me look prickly and not very nice, which can’t do me any favours in the (brown) eyes of Redhead.
So it seems Toby has inadvertently prevented me from doing another Toby.
Just as long as I do someone, soon.