Because that’s what guys were like. They weren’t ‘Prince Charming’, none of them.
Scowling, I managed to write only one more sentence describing that guy before Clara ran up. I quickly snapped the notebook shut (handily marked ‘Psychology’) and embraced my childhood friend.
Clara’s eyes flicked up and down my attire.
“Is this what all college students are wearing nowadays?”
“No, just Oxford University students,” I laughed. I wasn’t surprised that the fashionable Clara was shocked at my love of print dresses and wool jackets or cardigans. Today my dress was primrose and the loose cardigan accompanying it was a dark, dark blue, almost black.
“You could be mistaken for a bumblebee!” She gasped. Former Art student Clara wasn’t the smartest of things, “Oh, and what shoes are you wearing?”
“Just my normal slip-on black dolly shoes. You should know, by now, Clara, that I take these everywhere.”
“Oh yes,” she grinned, flicking her blonde hair behind her, “So are you going to buy me a milkshake?”
I rolled my eyes, but in a playful way. Sometimes I had to be careful about how forward my actions were towards Clara; she easily took things the wrong way.
Grabbing my purse from beside the sunset-coloured notebook, I stepped up to the counter and waited to be served. Soon enough, a good-looking young man appeared and asked if he could help me, so casually as though he might have been asking a girl to dine with him. I blushed at the way he seemed so confident with such a simple job, all the while wondering how long it took him to be like that.
I could never be at ease talking to many different people like that; I could barely speak up in my lectures. My head was so full of ideas, but I was so unable to broadcast them… And yet, writing seemed to be a way out…
Why? Why am I me? Why do I act this way?
“Chocolate milkshake and a slice of Victoria Sponge, please.”