(via The Daily Telegraph - an unlikely source but check out the article this photo originally accompanied, that's what my journey was like this morning)
I found myself pressed up against a rather attractive youngish, scruffyish, muso-type on the tube this morning. Exactly the kind of boy I tend to go for. Now though I'm happily in a relationship at the moment, the first thing I did was to try and cover it up. Not easy when it's got a shiny metallic cover. If I hadn't been enjoying it so much I might have put it away but I was quite addicted and I tried to put my arms around it to cover the text (which at that point was unmistakeably fluffy) like you did at school when doing tests - well, being a school swot, that's what I did anyway. That wasn't easy either as it was a jammed-packed train with no space even to perspire.
Why did I care so much? What did it matter if a boy I was never going to see again, didn't speak to, not sure if he even looked at me, saw what I was reading? Would he care? I know I'm guilty of checking out what people read on the tube and using that to make assumptions about that. Because I was in my glasses and reading a chick lit, I assumed what he would think i.e. I was some saddo lacking in social skills and desperate for a boyfriend (this probably says more about my own levels of self-esteem than anything about him or the chick lit genre). In reality, do boys go into this level of analysis when looking at girls on the tube? I really don't think so but I can't be sure and, when it comes to chick lit, my natural instinct still says 'hide it, hide it!'.
Oh, and that confession? Shopaholic didn't turn up in time so, based on my previous musings, I decided to try out a later Jane Green. I won't go into too much much detail here but ... the book I was devouring on the tube, that was it: Jane Green's Life Swap. The trauma indeed...
No comments:
Post a Comment