Читать книгу ‘Dancing in my nuddy-pants!’ - Louise Rennison - Страница 26

As I came into the main street I could see the Sex God was waiting for me by the clock tower. I ducked into a shop doorway for a bit of basooma adjusting and lip gloss application. Also, I thought I should practise saying something normal so that even if my brain fell out (as it normally does when I see him) my mouth could carry on regardless. I thought a simple approach was best. Something like, “Hi,” (pause, and a bit of a sexy smile, lips parted, nostrils not flaring wildly) and then, “Long time no dig.”

Cool – a bit on the eccentric side, but with no hint of brain gone on holiday to Cyprus.

I came out of my shop doorway and walked towards him. Then he saw me. Oh heavens to Betsy, Mr Gorgeous has landed.

He said, “Hi Georgia” in his Sex-Goddy voice and I said, “Hi Dig.”

Dig???

He laughed. “Always a bit of a tricky thing knowing what you are talking about at first, Georgia. This usually makes it better…” And he got hold of my hand and pulled me towards him. Quick visit to Number Four on the snogging scale (kiss lasting three minutes without a breath). Yummy scrumboes and marvelloso. If I could just stay attached to his mouth for ever I would be happy. Dead, obviously, from starvation, but happy. Dead happy. Shut up, shut up!! Brain to mouth, brain to mouth: do not under any circumstances mention being attached to his mouth for ever.

The Sex God looked at me when he stopped his excellent snogging. “Did you miss me?”

“Is the Pope a vicar?” I laughed like a loon at a loon party (i.e. A LOT).

He said, “Er no, he’s not.”

What are we talking about? I’ve lost my grip already.

Luckily SG wanted to tell me all about London and The Stiff Dylans. We went and had a cappuccino at Luigi’s. As I have said many times, I don’t really get cappuccinos. It’s the Santa Claus moustache effect I particularly want to avoid. Actually, I have perfected a way of avoiding the foam moustache; what you do is drink the coffee like a hamster. You purse your lips really tightly and then only suck through the middle bit. Imagine you are a hamster having a cup of coffee at Hammy’s, the famous hamster coffee shop. Shut up, shut up!!!

The Sex God told me all about an agent-type person offering them a record deal and them staying in this groovy hotel with room service and looking around London.

I said, in between sips of hamster coffee, “Did you see the Changing of the Gourds?”

He said, “Changing of the Gourds?”

Oh no…I had forgotten to unpurse my hamster lips.

“Guards. The changing of the Guards.”

He really didn’t seem to mind that he had a complete idiot for a girlfriend because he leaned over the table and kissed me. In public!!! In the café!! Like in a French film. Everyone was looking. Of course then it meant that I had to nip off to the loos for emergency lip gloss application. It’s very hard work being the girlfriend of a Sex God; that is what some people might not know.

We left Luigi’s and walked towards my house hand in hand. Thank goodness Robbie is tall enough for me. I don’t have to do the orang-utan lolloping along that I had to do with Mark Big Gob. I think that must mean that we are perfect partners, because our arms are the same length.