When a Man Repeller tries to Propel

I have recently developed a little crush on a fellow that we will, for his sake and mine, call Clive.


crush face

After no movement from his side I decided to take the matter into my own peen-deflecting hands.

This is risky for a number of reasons - namely, I repel men, so chances of success are slim.

With this reason in mind, I speculated one thing:

Can a repeller become a propeller?

To this, Anna Lou replied "A leopard print one-sie will never be Guess hotpants, and you my dear are the one-sie".

Working in the service industry, the only encounters I have with Clive are from the other side of a big counter (not likely to change any time soon).

Even though I have come to terms with my Man-Repelling, it doesn't ease the anxiety that comes from putting oneself 'out there'.

When I asked the one excrutiating question to Camden*; "what if I'm rejected?" I felt infinitely better.

Camden: "Who gives a fat fuck? Six billion other people in the world."


Camden

Keeping these sentiments close, I decided to step out of my comfort zone and attempt the impossible.

Creativity always scores high in my books - so I wanted to go about this in some sort of innovative, never-before-seen way.

I reached out to a number of friends, who helped me to create a masterful and extraordinary plan.

Together, we came up with a number of ways to convey to him my interest.

Re-enacted below are my favourite options, should you wish to try them out yourself. Do let me know if you do - we can see which is most effective! (It'll be fun!)

one. Give him a random item as a token of my interest - such as a spoon or an avocado.

two. Write him a note with appropriate message, fold into paper plane and fly at his head, then run away.

three. Write him a note, employ skilled origami maker to create work of art with note, then deliver via post to his work.

four. Draw him a picture and deliver to him.



And my favourite of them all, with thanks to my friend Will:

::::Drum Roll:::::

five. Write a song and employ a selection of friends to perform it. Whilst performing, friends will reveal their stomachs to show him a single digit of my phone number. Song lyrics suggested include: "Clive, Clive He's our man, did you know I'm your biggest fan!"

Will's idea left me overcome with fear enjoyment, however I decided something less extravagent may be more fitting.

I couldn't dispel an image of myself throwing the note in a frenzied fit at the poor fellow, then running out the doors, arms flailing, sobbing hysterically.

In the end I took the least fear-enducing route; because I'm a pussy.

[See below the note].



Folded into a $10, I handed over my note, then ran away, arms flailing, sobbing hysterically disappeared mysteriously into the crowd

At the end of it all, having heard not a single peep from our note receiver, I have at least achieved success in a few notable areas:

one. I have successfully fucked up my chances of enjoying the location Clive works at, forever**.

two. I have successfully illustrated what NOT to do.

three. I have successfully convinced Clive that I am a freak.


*More to come on Camden
** Okay, maybe not forever. Definately for at least an entire week.