Bestill my heart

I went back to the library today. I’d like to pretend I was researching something or furthering my understanding of the lending process but I wasn’t. I went in to see the vixen.
For some reason, she kept popping into my thoughts over the weekend. Maybe it was her sparkling eyes – eyes that would not appear unworthy in the face of Helen of Troy herself. Or maybe it was the way she smiled and wiggled as she placed that biography of Carol Thatcher back on the shelf in the Factual section. Or maybe it was the way her young breasts seemed to sit pert and attractive like two gravity-defying oranges of loveliness.
I don’t know for sure. All I know is, I got the first available bus into town and was waiting outside the doors when they opened. I hovered surreptitiously near the play scripts and watched the desk like a hawk. My plan was foolproof – I would walk around the building with a copy of ‘Creative Writing for Beginners’ under my arm, leap forward to the Lendings desk as soon as her cute young bum hit the chair, and use my carefully chosen text as an excuse to start a conversation. After thrilling her with my wit (and gelled hair) I would casually and craftily find out if she was single, before inviting her out on what would no doubt be a successful and relationship-cultivating first date. I was showered, cleaned, fresh of breath and brimming with charm and confidence.
It turns out she doesn’t work Mondays.

RC 23-2-09
2155 GMT