A matter of taste

Our ones often laugh at me. My tastes are, apparently, esoteric. Correct and right, I agree. Esoteric is a word to which I ascribe, quite arbitrarily, the feminine gender. I can remember the moment when we first met and what she was wearing  at the time. I fell in love instantly. She has some gorgeous sisters, and I may,in due course, if the mood takes me, after I cut my nails, introduce you.

She was hanging about the debating hall doorway in the students union, a doorway which stands, conveniently, adjacent to the union bar. Rather scantily attired too. She indicated no intention of making herself known to me. Shyly, (I always feel shy when I feel real affection. When I don’t care, I don’t give a damn) I pushed past her in time to witness a fantastic occurrence.

A tall blonde chap rose up and addressed the speaker from the back of the hall with the words, “You overwashed public effing schoolboy! When the red revolution comes I will save a bullet for you…” He continued his tirade until, realizing that his pint glass was empty, and bristling with chagrin, (justifiably so in my view for there are few predicaments more irritant than the stewardship of an empty beer glass), he made a glorious exit, straight across the foyer to the bar, to which he administered a severe thumping while demanding “four pints of wallop and be damn quick about it!”

He went on, you’ll not be surprised to hear, to pursue a successful career in television and unbeknownst to himself,has borne with him all this time, some of my esteem. No mean feat, for it is frequently withheld.

Returning then to another, more ephemeral recipient of that same esteem, Miss Esoteric (I am tempted to add an ‘a’ to embellish her attractiveness and emphasize her gender. Oh, those dimples!) I was absolutely delighted to discover as I came to know her better, that she was known only to very few, had unusual taste, and, happily, reciprocated my affections. More about her sisters, Panache and Beatrice, anon.

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