Okay. So perhaps I’m wrong about N’s hormones not yet taking effect. I think perhaps the problem may be that all the guys she knows who are our age are either immature, freakish, ugly, or a combination of all three, (though it’s true, it’s damn difficult to find a decent guy our age…) so she has been majorly put off the male species altogether. (Excluding the mysterious family friend J, a remnant of her halcyon tomboy days, who has re-emerged into her life after god knows how many years and whom she claims she has no feelings for but then proceeds to go on about how she “couldn’t wait to hear his voice again” and crushed the controller stick of her $500 minidisc player while closing the car door in her haste to get out of the car to see him. Sometimes, you’ve just gotta worry about N.) But anyway.

What was I on about? Oh yes, proof that N’s hormones aren’t entirely redundant. This is about the concert again. During the course of our collaboration with the guys’ school N developed a thing for Elbow Guy. (Hang on a minute; I’m getting there…) We’re sitting in the back seats during the day rehearsal because we had about another hour before it was time for us to come one, and we’re watching the orchestra perform. And then N’s like, oh my god, check out the first violinist! Look how musical his elbow is! And the rest of us are like what the fuck, N? And she’s like no, look how he holds his violin slightly to the side and how relaxed his arm is! That’s the mark of a truly great violin player. So she’s just raving about this random guy’s elbow and we’re all beginning to wonder if she has gone completely deranged. Then at the actual performance on the night where we’re on stage behind the orchestra N stands there ogling him and afterwards she’s like, wow, he is so cool! (And to get N’s approval is no mean feat seeing as she is extremely picky and has very high standards. Elbow Guy is like the epitome of the sensitive, intelligent, artistic prodigy type. Stick him in a tux with a violin and he’d look right at home in a big fancy hall playing a Beethoven sonata or something.) Then she proceeds to minutely detail his entire sequence of action in getting the orchestra to tune up to make it look like they’re actually doing something while waiting for our daft conductor to come onto the stage. I wouldn’t have gone for him myself, but he was so N’s kind of guy.

Speaking of which I so should have orchestrated a conversation with Xylophone Boy a.k.a. Little Drummer Boy! (Although I much rather Xylophone Boy than Drummer Boy – it has such a nicer ring to it, don’t you think? And besides, J totally grossed me out with the very wrong connotations of the Little Drummer Boy song – “COME… they called me…” Like, ewwww! But moving on.) Oh fudgeboudit, and I devised such a good plan too! It came to me while we were in the car after the concert, driving home. Ohhhh yeah, great timing, brain. What I should’ve done was accidentally-on-purpose bumped into him at the day rehearsal. As in quite literally, BUMP into him. Not too hard of course, I wouldn’t want to break his nose or seem like a total unco freak, but just a noticeable brush. Enough to warrant an, “Omigod, I’m so sorry!” followed by a remorseful expression and lots of eyelash fluttering. Then during the interval at the concert I’d bump into him again, and say something along the lines of, “Whoops, sorry! I keep bumping into you! Ergh, God I’m so unco.” And if he just walked away after the first ‘sorry’ I could do it again. And there’d be no escaping me! Mwahaha! Ahem… ooookay… So then I’d look in the other direction (preferably he’d be standing still and not walking away), then hesitate, turn around and say, “Hey, you were playing the drums, right?” And then if he was polite he’d go yes, and then I’ll say, “You’re really good,” and then smile and nod and perhaps if he was REALLY sweet he would say thanks and smile back. And then I’d say, “I’m in the choir… by the way my name’s…” insert my name here which I am still not going to tell you, and if he was really REALLY sweet he’d tell me his name and it’d all be cool. Damn, it would’ve worked a treat. If only my brain wasn’t so SLOW sometimes…

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