Wednesday 24 August 2011

Don'tcha Wish...

I think I might be a witch. Or an Indian Chief. Or whatever that person in the tribe is called that does the rain dance and conjures rain.

Last week I provocatively danced round the kitchen to 'Don'tcha' brashly inviting men to admit that they in fact wished their girlfriends were (amongst other things) hot, like me. Then Bam: I get asked out. Within the week. Some lovely man not only wishes his girlfriend was hot like me but actually was me.

I feel a bit like I invoked the same brand of power threatened in those chain-letters/blackmail emails where you HAVE to send this to 20 people or you'll never be loved again and it MUST be within 5 minutes or your arm will turn into a swan and you will break your own neck.

I wonder if I should send an email to all the people I know encouraging them to dance and sing to a prophetic song, in the kitchen, at 11pm, on Thursday, and it will happen within a week.

Careful what song you pick though. Nothing that could be taken literally. 'Bleeding Love', 'Heart of Glass' and 'I've got a Luverly Bunch of Coconuts' are out, but I'm thinking of composing a song called something like 'Please Can I Get A Brilliant Acting Job That Pays Me Healthily and Also Please Can My Brilliant New Boyfriend Keep Thinking I'm Brilliant and Hang Around For Quite Some Time'. I think the chorus needs work.

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