ilundi is set on setting us up. i die. idieidieidie.
i'm such a 13 year old when it comes to these things.
'he's single' she says. 'he's vegetarian' she says. 'he reminds me of you when he talks about music' she says. 'he gasped when he saw the smiths poster' she says. 'he said he wants a girlfriend' she says.
i can't say i'm not curious.
however, he smokes the smokey smokey jokey jokey stuff.
she's inviting him over for some tv and that day i'll make a pillow fort around my bed and hide underneath. and then she'll walk in, destroy hours of careful pillow weight consideration and placing, grab my legs and drag me out, and i'll grab onto anything for dear life, throw pillows at her which will do nothing to hinder her, claw at the bed legs, leaving ten parallel streaks of upturned carpet, then i'll grab onto my door and the hinges will explode, but i'll use it as an anchor at the top of the stairs and hold on while she pulls and pulls and then the door will split into two, and i'll throw the door debris at her but she'll dodge them while she pulls me down and my head hits the stairs step after step, and then i'll grab the banister firmly and the screws will come off loose yank after yank, and then the next thing i'll know is that i'm sitting in the living room floor with a wooden pole in my arms, splinters in my hair, and screws stuck on my tights, facing the guy, who will be staring at me. and then i'll say 'hi'.