My heart goes pitty pat, then BARF!
It’s a passion flower: apt!
They’ve introduced a dishy new fireman on Coronation Street, and I’m in a serious amount of crush with him. I don’t know what it is – his voice, his eyes – Curt thinks I’m nuts, but I literally watched the episode with him in it like four times last night, heart a-palpitatin’ with every word that rolled off of his sexy Mancunian tongue.
And then came the kissing scene.
Seriously, it was awful. He does this crazy fishy lips thing, and you know it’s all kinds of wrong slimy and wet – like kissing Demosthenes trying to suck water through a straw.
And yet, once the kiss was over, my eyes re-glossed and there he was again – this strange man, crafted to woo millions of viewers all over the globe, self-deprecating his way into the cockles of my cobwebbed, Anglophiliac heart!
I struggle with obsession and repulsion in the same breath; I tear my eyes away from him with dire reluctance and awful necessity; I burn as unhappily as a Phoenician queen, alone in my office, mini-blinds drawn.
Yes: I have arrived in the land of HausFrau, and I find the water is fine. ;)
