Woke up this morning and immediately checked all social media outlets, natch.
There’s a Direct Message from someone I followed on Twitter last night. A man. A lad, we’ll say, because he’s very British. Says this is the beginning of something beautiful. I slowly raise an eyebrow. We’ll see about that, British lad. IF YOU EVEN ARE BRITISH. *I* could be British on the internet. Anyone can be anything on the internet. Still, he leaves a blog address, and says if I check out said blog, he’ll give me free ice cream. Cute. Cute and “British”. The eyebrow rises a bit more. Probably a 50 year old shut-in living in a storage facility.
Remind me to tell you about the man living in the storage facility in Los Angeles sometime.
Anyway, I’m feeling curious, so I click through to the blog. Read a bit. Harumph. British lad is funny. How dare he! Read a bit more. British lad is REALLY funny. Tells tales of being an out of work actor. Getting harassed for reading the newspaper in pubs. Tall tales, some of it, for sure, but funny. I like funny.
My Spidey Sense alerts me at this time that I have fallen into a pretend person hole. I’m intrigued by a British lad who writes, is funny, and according to his picture on the blog, is quite good looking. I read a bit more.
Ah. There it is.
American women. Leaving gushing comments on his blog. He’s so cute. He’s so funny. He should come to America. Swooning and all that. Falling off their fainting couches, let’s say. And it hits me like a Louisville Slugger to the back of the head. I had almost been wooed by an internet persona who feeds on the attention of American women. *I* am an American woman! This is STRANGER DANGER!
Now, of course, I’m ENTIRELY fascinated. I read more of the blog. Lad is funny, I’ll say that much. A dry wit. Vair British. I realize I’m smirking as I read. He’s crafty. Self-deprecating to an extent, but slips up a bit, bragging about his chiseled cheekbones.
I’m SO sure you have chiseled cheekbones, British Lad. IF THAT IS YOUR REAL NAME.
Feeling smug, I read on. I enjoy the blog. How dare this CAD be so entertaining! Wooing me with the funny, when we all know that wickedly clever, funny writers are my kryptonite! He definitely lives in a storage facility, that’s for certain. Stacks of porn and comic books from floor to ceiling. Not that there’s anything wrong with porn and comic books, but everything in moderation, right? Cheeto bags galore. Pizza boxes. Empty cheap beer cans. He’s probably on a most wanted list too. Cheeky devil.
I smile as I close the blog window. That was quite the romance we had in my head, British lad with the cheekbones and the rapier wit. Oh yes, it was lovely. But I’m not new to this “internet” thing, and it takes a lot more than a bit of humor on the web and a tiny picture that could have come out of the Big Book of Male Model Stock Photos to woo me.
The beginning of something beautiful, was the only thing he had written to me, but that was more than enough. I had been wooed, come to my senses, and fled the scene all in my head without any help from the lad, or his cheekbones. I’m not new to this internet. You were a crafty one, British lad. Point to you. But I’m not going to be one of your fawning fans from America, telling you how funny and gorgeous you are. Maybe I’ll keep reading your blog, but it will always be with my head out of the clouds and an eyebrow firmly raised.
Oh. Darling. You thought I was going to link you? That would be like putting out on the first date. And I, British lad with the wit and the cheekbones, am a lady, dammit.