I’ve been tagged! By PJ from Coming2Terms.
“The rules are as follows: first I write a bit about who I am -- eight things to be exact. The second part involves me tagging five others.
1. I am tall
2. I box. It allows me to exhibit more patience to the world.
3. I have done some things I am really ashamed of, and some things that I wish I could take back. It took many years but I have forgiven myself.
4. I want to write stories and have them published. I want zillions of people to buy the books I write. I am terrified I have no talent.
5. I am really nice. It is one of my best things.
6. I once spent the better part of four years in bed, ill.
7. I enjoy speed (race cars, horses, planes, roller coasters, speed boats, motorcycles, hang gliders)
8. I have red hair.
There you have eight hidden facts about me. Then I am to Tag five others:
Sparx you’re it, at notes from inside my head.
i Beatrice you’re it, at I Beatrice.
Q you are it, at long way home.
Piggy you’re it, at pig in the kitchen.
The Good Woman you’re it as well, at My Wee Scottish Blog.
The temperature in Rabat is to be over 96 degrees F today. Oi.
. I was passing the fruit stand on the corner yesterday, where they serve the most wonderful concoction, but do not know the meaning of the phrase “take away”, when a beautiful (I am so serious, think a brunette Brad Pitt with a deep tan) young man of about 30-something, jumped out of a Mercedes (they are everywhere here) briefcase in hand, clothed in a Seville Row looking suit and began walking beside me. “Hello (in English). You are English?”
“Yes, Scottish.” I replied wondering if he knew of our football prowess.
Then he let loose with a string of French way too fast for me.
“Je parle peu le francais.” I replied my standard phrase.
“Will you have coffee with me?” he asked.
“No.” I said, thinking “Oh man he is sooo pretty.”
“Why not?” he asks as if he was shocked at the idea anyone would refuse.
“Because I am on my way to the market.”
“Will you give me your phone number?” he persisted.
“No!” I said laughing in spite of myself.
“Why not?” he asks grasping his chest in mock pain.
“Because I don’t know you!” I said firmly and turned the corner and went into the market leaving him standing on the sidewalk.
Alright, I know the big chances are he was after my passport, or my money, or a visa to the West; but oh man He was soooo pretty! It was rather like getting an unexpected delivery of a dozen roses.
20 comments:
Flirting, pure flirting continental style.
Possibly to get your passports, yes, but still flirting! LOL
It's true, it's true, and I REALLY enjoyed it!
You should have lived dangerously and had coffee with him... :-)
sigh, perhaps you're right. Another day.
Never fear you don't have talent - actually you have a lot and publishing is more about good marketing than good writing. You are published now on the internet anyway.
Your Top Five is great - I have an owl that sits on my neighbor's TV antenna and I get up early just to see him!
An owl! So cool. In Fez we had these little brown birds that would perch in the wrought iron window; when winter came they all fattened up and looked like little puffballs.
Thank you for the words of support, and for coming by.
Men, I hate it when you don't know their intentions. If only we could trust them all, the world would be a better place.
That's a truth, but as a species they are mostly yummy.
Thank you for coming by.
lol still, had to be flattering. we were at the mall once, and this guy (and as a male who is quite secure with his sexuality, i can only say this guy was fucking stunning!)at a little kiosk roped my wife and sis-in-law in. guy had an accent, talked soft and sultry...
caught mySELF wanting to run off to romantic and mysterious destinations with him, lol.
and of course the ladies bought whatever he was selling.
Bossy is tall, but she can't box or deal with speed. Basically Bossy just likes to stand around with her head touching the clouds.
Fascinating! A tall red-headed Scot being pursued in the market...somehow I need to know more. In the meantime, if I'm ever in a compromising situation I want a woman who boxes close at hand and I also want to read her stories as I'm sure they are page-turners!
(P.S. I'm six-foot myself but brunette. The other 50% of my heritage is Irish.)
Oh Lady M, I'm in awe of your courage re the eight things! I tried to play that game too - but it's the first rule of writing fiction to obliterate the self, and I have done it so effectively now that I couldn't even think of one thing, never mind about eight!
But what is the end in sight of this game, I want to know? So if you know, please tell me and I'll try again...
Re beautiful strangers appearing from nowhere: I met one once. It was in Rappallo Italy and he was oh so beautiful in the Italian way (which is to say with the eyes of Al Pacino); and I was 22, but too timid to try. And it has haunted me ever since.
Sally in norfolk was right though - you should have had coffee at least!
(Am struggling a bit with latest instalment btw {oh, for the infinite luxury of the big sprawling novel of indeterminate length!}
But something will appear shortly, I promise...)
Darth,
So true, we can be suckered in and if done right, we enjoy it! I am glad you didn't run off with 'hot guy' or we might be without your voice, a true loss.
Thank you for coming by.
Bossy,
How nice it must be in the clouds, watch out for those thunderheads!
Thank you for taking the time to read.
PJ,
I am quite jealous. I always wanted to be 6', but came up short (ha ha) at 5'10" (sigh).
Ah the Irish. We love the Irish. We always invite them when we're havin' a fight, and they always come!
thank you for dropping by.
I beatrice,
I believe the intent of the game is fun, and to allow us more expression of ourselves if I interpret correctly. If you are deeply "in character" at this time, perhaps you should forgo, and tell us eight things about Bill?
ah..beautiful strangers in Italy. Yes, been there. Now, THAT chap I did have coffee with, and the one in Paris as well. See I was not always a coward. I am taking Sally's advice under advisement.
I keep checking your site every day. I will be there when you have it done I promise. Just include for me a soft rain when you can, apparently there is to be no more rain here.
Thank you for dropping in to visit.
Yeah but I couldn't talk you into more than coffee. Coward.
scarlettscion,
Cheeky!
A boxer! I wonder, are you obligated to step away from a fight? I knew a boxer once and when rowdy boys at the bar tried to pick a fight, he had to walk away, because he knew exactly what kind of punch could do the most harm, thus his hands became "lethal weapons" and could be used against him in a trial.
Nothing soothes the ego more than a beautiful man paying attention to you! Lucky me! I get that everyday! sigh...where is Hubby?? "Huuuuubbyyy!"
Jenny,
No I'm not that good a boxer I think, but I do like to think of myself as a Lethal Weapon!
Thank you for coming by.
Lucky hubby..
I can tell you're really nice, but a boxer? You should have had the coffee. Sounds like you can take care of yourself just fine. I'm very jealous by the way. No Brad Pitts round my way.
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