was interesting ever a compliment when it came to clothing? I tune out. Butting in on Dan and Alex’s conversation about Arsenal is neither possible nor desirable so I amuse myself by giving Lorna a critical once over. Actually, she’s looking pretty good in the dress, which is very fitted and unforgiving in a way I could never carry off. I always forget that Lorna is, in fact, rather pretty. When her face is still, which is never, you notice her big eyes, which are dark brown and doeish and the fact that her mouth is wide and quite full (she has a big mouth, no kidding). Mind you, if I ate nothing but bird seed I’m sure my features would start to seem larger as my face got smaller. She has a bit of a crooked nose but not in a bad way, in a way that stops her face from seeming too bland, too regular. Her hair is a disaster, thin and wispy and unloved but all in all she’s in the top, what, thirtieth centile of looks.
I like to do this with people, rate them out of a hundred. I don’t know why. Most of the people I know, I have decided, score between seventy and eighty, which means there must be some seriously unattractive people around that I haven’t come across yet. I have put myself in the bottom of the sixties but with the potential to improve. Alex is in the seventies but I have placed Dan right up in the eighties, bordering on the nineties. It’s subjective, of course. I once decided Angelina Jolie was only just in the top fifty per cent but that was right after she started collecting babies and I was finding her self-righteousness really annoying.
The waiter comes to usher us through to our table. I have already decided that the best way to get through the evening is to let Lorna talk and only answer when necessary. I have warned Dan of the perils of telling her any funny anecdotes about me and my misbehaviour for fear they will be broadcast round the office, so now he’s scared to say anything. But that’s OK, because Lorna is in full flow, telling us about the time she went on a cookery course and Aldo Zilli was running it and he kept singling her out and wasn’t that just typical? Lorna is one of those people who always thinks she is the most important person in any room. Of course Aldo would pick her to slice the aubergines because she’s so amazing and hilarious. The more prosaic explanation that maybe she just happened to be the person standing closest to him would never occur to her. Dan, trying to be polite, is making things worse by saying ‘wow’ and ‘really?’ and sounding like he’s impressed, but I just let them get on with it and eat my food, which is fantastic by the way. Halfway through the meal he asks me if I’m feeling all right.
‘You’re very quiet,’ he says, concerned.
‘I’m fine. Just enjoying my Dover sole,’ I say, and thankfully Dan leaves it at that. But then the meal takes an altogether more stressful turn. Alex, I am convinced, has been looking to make mischief ever since we arrived and, finding that it’s all going fairly smoothly, can’t resist throwing a spanner in the works.
‘Hey, Rebecca,’ he says out of nowhere. ‘Tell Lorna about the email thing.’
‘Oh no,’ I say, trying to make light of it. ‘She doesn’t want to be bored with that.’
I give Alex an imploring look that says ‘please don’t,’ but he just smirks at me. Dan, who knows what’s coming, tries to step in and help, but all he can manage is, ‘God, this sea bass is delicious,’ which does nothing to halt the oncoming juggernaut.
‘Well, I will, then. So…’ Alex says, turning to Lorna and taking a big hammy deep breath. ‘You won’t believe this…’
The email incident is not one of which I am proud. It was funny at the time, don’t get me wrong. Reliving it gave me, Dan, Alex and Isabel several drunken evenings of hilarity, and all of us – Alex included – would laugh until tears rolled down our cheeks. Now, suddenly, it doesn’t seem so side splitting. It
I like to do this with people, rate them out of a hundred. I don’t know why. Most of the people I know, I have decided, score between seventy and eighty, which means there must be some seriously unattractive people around that I haven’t come across yet. I have put myself in the bottom of the sixties but with the potential to improve. Alex is in the seventies but I have placed Dan right up in the eighties, bordering on the nineties. It’s subjective, of course. I once decided Angelina Jolie was only just in the top fifty per cent but that was right after she started collecting babies and I was finding her self-righteousness really annoying.
The waiter comes to usher us through to our table. I have already decided that the best way to get through the evening is to let Lorna talk and only answer when necessary. I have warned Dan of the perils of telling her any funny anecdotes about me and my misbehaviour for fear they will be broadcast round the office, so now he’s scared to say anything. But that’s OK, because Lorna is in full flow, telling us about the time she went on a cookery course and Aldo Zilli was running it and he kept singling her out and wasn’t that just typical? Lorna is one of those people who always thinks she is the most important person in any room. Of course Aldo would pick her to slice the aubergines because she’s so amazing and hilarious. The more prosaic explanation that maybe she just happened to be the person standing closest to him would never occur to her. Dan, trying to be polite, is making things worse by saying ‘wow’ and ‘really?’ and sounding like he’s impressed, but I just let them get on with it and eat my food, which is fantastic by the way. Halfway through the meal he asks me if I’m feeling all right.
‘You’re very quiet,’ he says, concerned.
‘I’m fine. Just enjoying my Dover sole,’ I say, and thankfully Dan leaves it at that. But then the meal takes an altogether more stressful turn. Alex, I am convinced, has been looking to make mischief ever since we arrived and, finding that it’s all going fairly smoothly, can’t resist throwing a spanner in the works.
‘Hey, Rebecca,’ he says out of nowhere. ‘Tell Lorna about the email thing.’
‘Oh no,’ I say, trying to make light of it. ‘She doesn’t want to be bored with that.’
I give Alex an imploring look that says ‘please don’t,’ but he just smirks at me. Dan, who knows what’s coming, tries to step in and help, but all he can manage is, ‘God, this sea bass is delicious,’ which does nothing to halt the oncoming juggernaut.
‘Well, I will, then. So…’ Alex says, turning to Lorna and taking a big hammy deep breath. ‘You won’t believe this…’
The email incident is not one of which I am proud. It was funny at the time, don’t get me wrong. Reliving it gave me, Dan, Alex and Isabel several drunken evenings of hilarity, and all of us – Alex included – would laugh until tears rolled down our cheeks. Now, suddenly, it doesn’t seem so side splitting. It
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