Before brunch, he’d sat with me to explain the mechanics of the instrument very patiently, pointing out how wind travels through the different moving parts and actually manages to make the dratted thing come off as sexy. That he’s intelligent was never the question.
All I’m wondering is what happened to all that manual dexterity? Woops. Sorry.
Once in my own space, psychic impressions of this latest encounter fall like a ton of bricks around me. A gun??? And what about all the sexy build up falling flat as a winded souffle?? Sure I could do Madonna/Whore with style, but not for that kind of bed-work. I’m conscious of feeling antsy, as if I’d had a meal on the run and I was still ravenously hungry. I rouse the Council for immediate advise and submit my tale of woe for careful consideration.