Today I discovered my secret life as an accidental creepy stalker. Usually I’d be bothered by this but when I got thinking about it I’m almost certain I’m not the retarded one. Was with Hans in her flat when she told me she’d done something bad, after I got her to switch off the broken English for two minutes I learned that a mutual friend of ours that she goes to uni with was talking about her split with her long-term boyfriend and how she’s self-conscious yadda yadda. To cheer her up Hans told her how I thought she was really cute and (one of, chill oot hen) the nicest girl at college. Were I fourteen this might have been embarrassing, but now I’m 22 and some girl I never see knowing I think she’s nice looking isn’t that big of a deal to me. The fact she’s got two kids and a love for spending money she hasn’t got means she isn’t far up the list of girlfriend material to begin with. I shrugged my shoulders and said it was cool and don’t worry about it.
“But then you posted that thing on Facebook.”
Shit. Shit shit shit. I’d forgotten all about that, even if it was only a week ago I’d posted it. This girl (milf, to use the polite term) had posted a status about wanting to go to Venice and I had replied with “Road trip!” and that was that. Then one of her friends, who I’ve never met before, said I wasn’t the romantic type and wouldn’t like it, so she’ll go instead. Taking this all as a joke I posted an OTT, overly long, and cheesily romantic thing, throwing in some Googled Italian as the cherry on top. And that was that. Her friend liked the comment and I thought nothing more of it until today. The girl read it, thought I was being serious and worked herself up into a panic about me being head over heels for her. I think it was the “For my love!” in the most romantic of the romance languages at the end of it that did it. Now I was a bit paranoid, so I went back and read what I’d posted, breathing a big sigh of relief as I did. I talked about private jets, hand crafted gondolas made and driven by me, singing her love songs in Italian, and pouring a load of the River Clyde into the waterways of Venice in case she got homesick. Anyone who can’t see I was kidding is too retarded to be worth bothering about. Restraining orders and unrequited love no longer on my mind I settled for mild offence that someone would think I’d be daft enough to post something like that on the internet rather than stand outside of her house holding a stereo above my head and just shout it at her like a real man.
A Reminder Of Fatness 
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