Tag Archives: How not to attract a man

The Tuscan pizza of degradation

How not to attract a man, part 2

The sun was gently setting over the Tuscan vineyards as thirty hungry people sat down for dinner. A few friends and I were spending one scorching summer week working on a family-run vineyard in Italy. We had spent the day vigorously pruning and were ready to consume obscene amounts of food.

Every night Catty, the eldest daughter of the family, kindly prepared dinner for the workers. We would sit along a stretch of tables set up on the porch, eating by candlelight as the sun disappeared behind the mountains.

Tonight was pizza night. Ruth and I had volunteered to help out, although it wasn’t exactly an act of self-sacrifice – Catty had essentially given us a free Italian cooking lesson, and I can’t say that the presence of Catty’s hot brother, who was watching TV in the corner of the kitchen, was entirely unwelcome.

As Catty and Ruth cut up the steaming pizza and carefully placed the slices on wide platters, my job was to carry the food out through the beaded door curtains to my waiting friends.

Due to the presence of Catty’s brother, I was of course trying to execute this in as elegant a fashion as possible for me (i.e. – not falling on my ass).

My hungry friends were applying subtle pressure to hurry up and get the food on the table. In haste I dashed to the kitchen to grab the last platter and rushed back through the curtains. Somehow as I flew through the beads they managed to tangle themselves around my torso, jarring me backwards. The platter jolted, catapulting the pizza off the plate and onto the tiled floor in synchronised splendour. To add to this spectacle, several of the beaded tails tugged free from the ceiling and clattered down around me.

I looked up to notice HotItalianBrother gaping at me in bewildered confusion, as if to say “Who is this weirdo, and why on earth has she decided to destroy my house?”

The pizza lay in splattered ruin on the floor. Unfortunately I was unable to a) redeem myself by clearing it up, or b) run for dear life (the preferred option), as I was still entangled in the damn door.

HotItalianBrother continued to stare at me, baffled. Guessing he was probably not entirely won over by my slapstick charm, I decided that a quick exit would be wise. Then I remembered that I couldn’t actually move.

At least I made an impression.


How not to attract a man (and other fun stories)

Life. For most it passes by with the occasional fail. For some, however, (cue: me) life is a series of slightly humiliating disasters of hilarious, yet epic proportions.

For example, take my track record on interaction with attractive men. For some reason this area of my life seems to resemble a Will Farrell movie.

Rather than moan, I thought I would share my in-depth experience with the bloggasphere in the hope that some of you may avert dating disaster by following this one simple, yet highly effective rule: don’t. copy. me.

Over the next few weeks I will share a few of my most embarrassing moments in the hope that some good can come out of the more ridiculous things that I have done have happened to me (against my will. Through no fault of my own. Whatsoever.)

Part 1: The slide of horror

I was ten years old and on my way back from a walk in the welsh mountains with my trendy parents (yes – my mum and dad were cooler than me even then. Not a good sign of things to come.)

Upon passing a small park I begged my weary parents to stop and let me play for a few minutes. In retrospect I now realise that the park was, in the words of my mum,  “a bit run down” (i.e. a total dive/ death trap) but all I saw was the possibility of five whole minutes of unbridled fun rather than the fact that this was Not A Good Idea.

On entering the play area I realised I was not alone. There was another kid sharing the space with me, and not just any kid.

A Boy.

When I was ten A Boy was a big deal. Especially one that was a little older than me. I struck my best confident walk, striding up to the rickety slide that towered above me. I climbed the stairs tentatively, making sure that the wind didn’t whip my flowery elasticised skirt over my head. I made it to the top. He was watching. Result.

Throwing myself onto the slide I began to wiz down, trying not to bang my elbows on the large iron hooks that poked upwards along the sides.

Allow me to narrate what followed:

Young girl begins descent. Girl’s skirt catches on hooks. Girl’s torso flies through centre of skirt with technical flare.

At least this is what the onlookers remember. All I can recall is starting the descent with my skirt on and finishing in my underpants, skirt still half way up the slide.

I wish I could tell you that this is an isolated incident in an otherwise uneventful life. But we both know that I would be lying.

Next week : Part 2 – The Tuscan pizza of degradation