I’ve never been lucky in love. Or raffles. Or even those hook-a-duck games at the fair. The little bastards see me standing there, poised with a pole, and paddle frantically to the other end of the pond, smug ducky smiles on their smug ducky faces. I did win a goldfish once, though. It was deformed. And it died on the way home on the bus. It wasn’t my fault; I’d popped him on the seat while I buried my face in baby-pink candy floss, and the next thing I knew, this mammoth-sized woman had sat on him! Well, the bag burst. Water spurted. I squealed. She shrieked. The bus driver stood on the brakes. We all shot forward, and the silly cow got herself wedged in the seat. By the time we’d fished him out, poor Goldie was cooked. And flattened. She really was a big woman.
Anyway, I’ve digressed, slightly. Where was I? Oh, yes – unlucky in love. You’ve heard of Iron Man? Well, I’m Electromagetic-Wave-Woman. It’s like I have this invisible transmitter stuck to my head, giving out radio waves audible only to strange men and dogs. It’s a right pain in the bottom. Whenever I meet a bloke I fancy, one of two things happen; either he’ll grimace and start making vomiting noises, or he’ll give me the come-on. Fairly standard stuff so far, right? Well, if he dashes for the loo, I immediately know he’s a decent bloke with no particular hang-ups. But that doesn’t help me score ‘cos he finds me repulsive. But, on the other hand, if he likes me and starts doing the old Dating Disco Dance, then I know, with an absolute certainty, that the poor guy’s completely fucked in the head.
And then we have the dogs. Whether they’re big, small, shaggy, furry, friendly or grizzly, they pounce, they play, they wag their butts. They grin and slobber, offer up paws and cuddly toys and licks and cuddles, and all the time, wearing those daft, soppy, doggy looks of blissed-out adoration.
I’m telling you, strange men and dogs – they bloody well luff me.