So, I dress up prettily. Put on my 3-inch stilettos (which costed me 300 baht in Thailand, but looks like they would have costed me $300), and meet my friends in trendy (but mostly in not-so-trendy) bars. And I laugh a lot. And smile a lot. And generally being a pretty, slightly drunk (mostly the charming sort, sometimes the just drunken sort, and sometimes the horrible Woman from Hell sort), fun girl out. And I will dance, sometimes. If I feel really daring, I will even do the dirty-strip-joint routine on the dance floor, which is, although highly popular among my male friends, maybe not the cleverest thing to do, so I am trying to restrain myself. I am getting better. And I will take cab back home alone (mostly, not always, but mostly). But sometimes, I will take my friends cab back home (his home that would be).

I have known him for three years now and he is perfect boyfriend material. Sadly, even though my brain is optimistically informing me again and again that he is, the rest of my body does not seem to respond to the pep-talk. He is a couple of years younger than me. But what the hell I ask. Young boys try harder. Or something like that. We are studying the same things. We like each other. And not only do we like each other, we also do have fun together. He is tall and blond and handsome in the Scandinavian sort of way. And he is a great dresser. It’s true, he has a great fashion sense. I know what you are thinking, that maybe he is gay. And no, he isn’t. Really. And I do find him attractive, but in a friendish sort of way, and not in a wanting-to-bonk-the-living-daylight-out-of-him sort of way. So why won’t the body cooperate with what the brain have figured out is the match made in Heaven? I know I might have set the list I bit high with expecting both love and lust. Oh what the hell, I would have settled for just lust. But no, there is no such thing going on at the lower departments. Nothing, nada, ikkeno…

We have talked about it, mostly when drinks have been involved, but still talked about it. We even tried out a rather awkward and sheepishly drunken pash when lots of drinks had been taken. It didn’t turn out brilliantly. There was no sudden realisation that this very-good-friend was The One. That the man in my life had been in front of my very eyes all along. Instead it was only a rather pathetic feeling of nothingness. It was nice, but if I had to choose between another drink and another kiss, I would definitely go for the drink. So we did. Luckily he felt the same way.

But sometime we spend the night together. And we cuddle (which is nice), and swear at the totally lack of lust (which would have been nicer). And I will bother his flatmate, and raid his fridge. And the next day we will watch bad day-time-telly, and grunting to each other. And later, he will drive me home, and we will wonder why nothing ever happens between us…