The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. (Except a few barefaced lies)

I’m going to tell you a true story now. I will be embellishing and exaggerating along the way because it is very important that I maintain the blurriness of the line that distinguishes truth from fiction. Especially since, unlike other bloggers, I was stupid enough to put my real name up there.

This is a story of a boy, (me) and a girl, (whose name was yeah right, like I’m going to go and tell you. What if you also know her and you report me? I’m not putting my business all up on the Internet so that I can get into trouble. Let’s call her Daisy and move on).

Like Daisy Fay in The Great Gatsby. You will see the parallels as the tale progresses.

Daisy was the girl next door, the girl on whom, as these things go, I had a massive crush.
I was just out of S4, chilling through vac, luxuriating through lazy days and easy evenings, watching The Fresh Prince on VHS, recovering from a hectic year during which I narrowly survived becoming a juvenile delinquent by fortunately being broke…(I had started to hang out with the wrong crowd, you see. They were called the Borbon family. They were SMACK Gangstas).
I was vacing at those of our’s when (cue music) she walked into my life.

Twinkle-twinkle-chwiiing!

(That was the music)

She was stunning. She was mesmerizing. The fluttering my dear little heart assumed when she first glid into sight has not been replicated since. Yes, glid. She did not walk like mortal girls walk, with her feet touching mundane dirt. She would glide. Hence glid.

My brain leapt up, on seeing her and said, Dude, why are you still gawking, go, go, go!

But Mr. Flutterby in my thorax had objections. “Go with what? Those corny moves you learnt for social?” And he had a point. You see, ladies, and I could get into trouble for spilling this secret, if a guy comes at you with confidence, poise, grace, saying the right words and all that crap you like, there’s a chance that he isn’t into you as much as you think. He has thought it would be nice to kick it with you, but he knows that if you tell him to get lost it won’t be the end of the world and he can just go off and maybe catch the game on Supersport.

But if the little boy is stuttering and stammering and dropping his braces and generally acting like a wet fish, that is true love. That is because he knows he is facing total devastation in your arms. You would lose a smidgen of your composure too if someone was holding a gun to your head and you didn’t know whether they were going to shoot or not.
So my heart told me…

Ooops. Out of time. I’ll tell you the rest next time I can get to a webcafe.