Last time I discreetly touched on the topic that I had en exam yesterday. It is now today, and yesterday went bye-bye. So have the exams. It wasn’t completely horrible. As a matter of fact, it rarely is, although I’m always quite convinced that it will be beforehand. I came, I wrote, I went home and watched The Singing Detective.
In between I tried to find a replacement for the jeans I tore when I was climbing a fence, and the fact that nothing fit me properly and the hostile light in the clothing booth made me feel fat for a couple of hours. Then I got over it, ‘cause I’m not fat, dammit. When I got home, I ate cookies out of spite. I briefly thought about staking out the store, just to see if those tiny-size-people actually exist, but that would have been boring, because such a person would obviously be twelve years old. You can get in trouble if you stalk someone who’s twelve. I’ve seen that on the news. Of course, you can get into trouble by stalking anyone, really. But some people might like it. I think some of the elderly that I worked with last summer would have enjoyed being stalked.
Hey, maybe I could set up an agency? Stalkers R Us. It would be like an escort service, only completely different. In stead of conversation, the chance to impress your friends with Mr. (really good at pretending to be) Perfect and possibly the opportunity for some form of sweaty activity, we’d offer phone calls featuring heavy breathing and groaning, lots of reasons for your friends and family to show their love and concern through worrying about you and the thrill of having your underwear go missing.
How’s that for brilliant?