When I was a callow
young 19 year old, I went to a grunge theme night at my provincial university. I suppose it was technically retro, it was 1995 and Cobain had been cold for well over a year.
I knew this girl, mates through mates, a nurse so probably dirty. No chemistry though. She came and sat next to me, said hi. Then pointed out that a mate of hers was interested in me.
She was a stunning redhead, the kind of girl you would not expect to see with a rock twat like me. I looked at her, she did that repeated glancy thing over her shoulder as I sat with her friend.

"Go and talk to her"
"I can't"
"Go on! Don't you think she's pretty?"
"Nah. I've got to go."
"Are you chicken?"

I was, in truth, but I illustrated the main reason by pulling the leg of my jeans taught, revealing the fact that my knee was three times its normal size.

I'd horrendously dislocated my kneecap moshing to the godawful Nirvana covers band. I was going home for some ice, then to get a taxi to casualty.

Don't know if the lady took it as a snub. Fairly academic, as the next time I saw her, when I could walk again, she was with Mr Ruggedly-Handsome 1994. Kicked myself.

And the worst part is that I don't even like Nirvana.
( cs1ca, Mon 8 Jan 2007, 19:31, Reply)