I have perfected a way of avoiding the foam mustache: what you do is drink the coffee like a hamster. You purse your lips really tightly and then only suck through the middle bit. Imagine you are a hamster having a cup of coffee at Hammy's, the famous hamster coffee shop. Shut up, brain, shut up!!! The Sex God told me all about an agent-type person offering them a record deal and them staying in this groovy hotel with room service and looking around London.
I said, in between sips of hamster coffee, "Did you see the Changing of the Gourds?"
He said, "Changing of the Gourds?"
Oh no . . . I had forgotten to unpurse my hamster lips.
"Guards. The Changing of the Guards."
He really didn't seem to mind that he had a complete idiot for a girlfriend because he leaned over the table and kissed me. In public! In the café! Like in a French film. Everyone was looking. Of course then it meant that I had to nip off to the loos for emergency lip gloss application. It's very hard work being the girlfriend of a Sex God.We left Luigi's and walked towards my house hand in hand. Thank goodness Robbie is tall enough for me. I don't have to do the orangutan lolloping along that I had to do with Mark Big Gob. I think that must mean that we are perfect partners, because our arms are the same length.
When we reached the bottom of my street I said to the Sex God that it would be better if he wasn't exposed to my parents because of the Angus fandango.
He asked me what had happened and I said, "Well, in a nutshell, Naomi is pregnant and the finger of shame is pointing towards Angus, even though he is, well, you know . . . not as other men in the trouser snake addendum department."
When I eventually managed to tear myself away, SG gave me a really amazing number six with a dash of six and a quarter (tongues with lip nibbling). I managed to not fall over and I waved at him very nearly like a normal person when he went home. I like to think I handled the whole incident with sophisticosity.That is what I like to think.
SG is meeting me on Tuesday after Stalag 14. Hurrah!
Everything is going to be fabbity fab fab and also possibly bon. Forevermore.
Excerpted from Dancing in My Nuddy-Pants by Louise Rennison. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any mater whatsoever without written permission from the publisher.
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