On a train to Manchester once, a Perfect 10 sat opposite me. I was reading the Times so it was a simple job to gaze at her over the top of the pages. We caught eye contact a couple of times… She blushed… She was beautiful.
I was getting off at Oxford Road, I guessed she was carrying on to the airport as she had a suitcase.
I got to the crossword page and started filling it in… I spent a bit of time making it look good – all the words crossing and joining in the correct fashion:
“I’M GATSBY, YOU’RE PERFECT. CALL ME. 07123 456790.”
When I got off the train, I smiled and pushed the newspaper across the table, knowing that nobody can see an unfinished crossword without completing it.
I hadn’t got as far as the Corner House when I got the text…
“I knew you were an arrogant bastard the moment I sat down. In Italy for next 4 weeks, call me when I get back”.
I never did call her, didn’t want to ruin a perfect relationship. ;)
G