Regarding my opinion on the hotness of choirboys: I stand corrected. Our first formal choral encounter with the all-singing, all-dancing “I Feel the Earth Move” guys proved to be an interesting experience. Of course it wasn’t much of a surprise as we had already seen most of those guys before and had therefore deduced that they were made up of mostly geeky/freaky/otherwise uncheck-outable specimens anyway. But alas, from my vantage point on the high seats at the back of the hall I spotted one singular hot guy. ONE hot guy. Just the ONE. Out of what, about sixty other guys? (Okay, so maybe I don’t stand corrected after all…) And apparently everyone else noticed as well as they were all talking about him afterwards and have since christened him Hot Dude for obvious reasons. Sometimes, it sure is tragic going to a girls’ school. But he WAS pretty hot. Wavy brownish hair with blonde streaks, great features and a commendable dress sense. So almost my ‘type’. But short! Oh so short! Like half a head shorter than me! I swear, all the drool-worthy guys I have ever known have been total shortarses! Why oh why does that have to be so??? It’s so unfair! They’re blonde, they’re hot, but noooo, if they were taller it just wouldn’t do! It’s like up there they’re making the checklist in the good looks book and they come across all the hot, blonde, so-my-type ones and they’re like, should we make him tall as well as hot? Nah, that’d ruin all the fun! Let’s just throw the spanner in the works and make him hopelessly short! It sucks, I tell you, it sucks! Bloody hell, why are all the pretty boys so goddamn short?!

Oookay. Deeeeep breaths. Breathe, girl, breeeeathe! Please disregard the little outburst over there, no harm was intended by it… But anyway, all the musos are so much hotter than the choirboys! We’re practicing the piece with the full orchestra and I’m seated right behind Xylophone Boy who happens to be extremely cute in a tanned, suitably TALL, curly-haired, pretty boy, pre-pubescent lanky in a 25 kilos when wet kind of way. And bears a slightly freaky resemblance to a certain Spanish tennis player. But most importantly he’s at least my age or older! Guaranteed! So I spent most of the hour and a half staring at Xylophone Boy’s (painfully skinny – you could see the bones in his spine when he leant over) back because I was so bloody bored and the song itself was a complete mess. My friend N (whose hormones have yet to kick in) later agreed that he was cute but then (very unrightly!) compared him and the certain Spanish tennis player to chimpanzees and proceeded to spend the rest of the day making monkey arms at me across the room. Sometimes my friends are all total retards.

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