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My mate, primate…

Promotion photo from Snow White and the Three ...

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It’s happened! I think I may – at last – have found my Prince Charming! I am rushing around  the house, all overheated and excited, and for the first time in my pitiful excuse for a life, I am squealing. Squealing!  I can’t breathe, my tummy’s a mass of swirling butterflies and I’m having palpitations. I’m really and truly in lurve. Or I’m having a heart attack.

Either way, it’s exciting.

And I’m trying extra hard with this one; a good male friend of mine has suggested that my ‘oddness’ is attracting the Wrong Type. I have to be normal and girly, simper and giggle, flutter my lashes and flash coy smiles. I’m following his advice, so advance apologies if  my simpering gets on your tits.

Okay, so we ‘met’ online *sound of girly giggling* and he’s just soo lovely! He’s intelligent, has a fantastic sense of humour and an impressive grasp of English grammar and punctuation. *swoon* No text speak at all. OMG, he’s gr8!  We’ve swapped photos, and I’m smitten. He has the most smouldering, wise eyes, the exact colour of  a Cadbury’s Whisper bar. With broad shoulders and a hairy chest,  he’s perfect. Women like wide shoulders on their men;  it’s an indication of  the protection he can offer. *coy smile* He makes me feel so safe!  And  I can feel my fingertips running across his chest, gently tangled in dark, coarse hair. I tug. He growls, deep in his throat, throws back his head and moans. *lots of blushing*

He also rather likes my large and wobbly bottom *more titters*

But, alas! Alack! Alliteration! The course of true love never did run smooth… *Back of my hand is resting dramatically across my frowning brow*  Lady Luck is a meany mare; she has shown me a glimpse of true love, and, with an evil laugh, has torn it away.  *Sound of high-pitched evil cackle* My life is over (again). My Prince Charming? My One True Love?  He is a gorilla…

Gorilla 2

Image by nailbender via Flickr

I don’t know how I’m gonna break it to my mother…


Online dating. You’re sure to click with someone…

Brown Sugar Pavlova with Strawberry-Rhubarb Fi...

Image by Polkaroo via Flickr

Okay, the search is over. It’s official. I’m in lurve. My prince has arrived, weapon in hand, and God knows I do like a decent bit of swordplay.

Imagine raspberry ripple ice-cream and freshly sugared strawberries, dollops of delectable clotted cream, all nestled and wrapped in sweet, crunchy meringue and drizzled with thick, melted chocolate. Pour all that gorgeousness into a man’s body. Add sparkly brown eyes and a slightly lop-sided, cheeky grin et voila!  Meet Mmm…Meringue Man.

Oh be quiet my rumbling tummy!

And he’s a professional chef. I have visions of him standing at my hob, whipping up delicious dinners with unpronounceable names while I lounge around admiring the view and sampling his wares. He is, of course, naked. His cute buttocks peeking out from behind a crisp white chef’s apron, and we’ll grow (even) old(er) and morbidly obese, together…

Mmm…Meringue Man is my Destiny.

If I could pluck up the courage to send him a bleedin’ message, that is….

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