Last night, as I retired to bed I got a text from a number I didn’t know just saying a friendly ‘hello how are you’. After a few texts I realised it was a best friend’s cousin. One night, my friends and I decided to text randomers and just say ‘I love you.’ I text this guy and he was really curious as to who I was. I had completely forgotten all about it and then last night we exchanged first names.
Today, I was walking over a bridge in town en route to Cork Coffee Roasters with two friends, one of whom is my ‘I love you’ guy’s cousin. It was a cold enough day, but the sky was clear and there was a really good buzz around town. There was a flash mob dance thing as part of a protest against cuts in Arts funding and Cork looked like a cool place to be. The people looked good and everything seemed so nice.
So as we walked across this bridge and along the quays we commented on how this situation would unfold itself if we were living in a film. It would be something like this. We would keep texting for a while and then either happen upon each other and fall in love, subsequently finding out we had been texting each other all along. Or we would decide to meet up and then fall in love. The first option is by far the more commercial option but the second is a little (but not much) more realistic.
We’d get married and his cousin/my friend would be bridesmaid. And the cute/ironic/cheesy thing about the whole story would be the fact that the very first time we communicated it was to say ‘I love you.’ Altogether now : Awww.
When I came home from town my mum made my brother and I go to mass with her. This story is slightly different from the first, in that it’s not as stylish or classy, but a nice idea nonetheless. When I go to mass my mind wanders and I think about all sorts of things. Today I found myself being distracted by a nice young man sitting in the next block of seats. I am fully aware the seats in a church are called pews, but these were not pews. The old little country church is being refurbished so mass is now held in the GAA hall. And we sit on plastic grey chairs. How glamorous.
As the priest droned on I took sideways glances at my newfound interest. He was about 17 and was tall and slim. He was wearing jeans, a grey t-shirt and a black jumper, and had spiky-ish black hair. He looked cool. At one stage we made eye-contact. Big whoop I know but it was the best I could do considering we were at mass. And then I caught him looking at me. Nothing too maajor, but a nice way to while away mass all the same.
Inevitably as I was walking out he was right next to me/in front of me, but unfortunately my mother was too. She’s always in the way at the worst times. He had his phone in his hand. If this was a movie I’d have taken his phone out of his hand and put my number in his phonebook. But life’s not a movie, especially not in a small-ish country-ish but still near the city parish. And there was the obstacle of my mother. But it was a nice thought anyway.
My mother was smirking away to herself, not realising she looked like a frumpy dope in her jeans-and-runners combo which I have rarely seen her leaving the house in before. She was, of course, smirking at the ‘nice young boy’. As soon as I closed the car door after me she started. ‘There was one nice lad in the whole church. Did you see him?’ and she proceeded to give me a detailed description of what he was wearing. My brother threw in the fact that he was wearing Converse. How could I not like him?! Then Mumsie told me how she saw him taking a good glance of me as we were walking out of the GAA hall-come-church. Ah lovely! How convenient. Shall I marry him, mother? Then she tried to find him and point him out to me as we were driving out of the church. Does she think I am that blind?
It would be nice to get to know him though. I mean he obviously lives near me and I wouldn’t mind at all at all having a friend from round these parts. Now I have to go to mass next week though. Feckin’ dose, and knowing my luck he won’t even be there. Christmas fair would be a good time to strike up a conversation, but if I had to stay at that jumble/cake sale that they consider to be a Christmas fair, I might just go mad.
All in the name of love though.