So To Speak.

I was with Absolutely Stunning Hot Boy I Have Now Talked To and didn’t draw breath for an hour.
Because I was talking.
“Do you have something you need to tell me? You have raised the subject of paedophilia twice…” he laughed at me, possibly unsure as to whether I am actually human.

When I was in high school, sitting in maths class, I questioned why I would ever need to know mathematical navigation.
“Because one day you may be driving a boat,” my teacher tried to reason. “And you won’t want to drive directly into an island!”
“Please,” I smiled. “In the event that I am ever on a boat, I will be sunbaking on it while holding a cocktail. Even Gilligan had a Skipper.”

We learn a lot of things in life that we don’t actually want to know. But no one sits us down and explains, “This Is How You Talk To Someone You Like”.
If I had a unit of useful knowledge for every algebra equation I know, I would have…I would have….umm…at least one piece of important information. Which is more than I can say for my current state. Maybe some people just know that paedophilia is not a genius topic to bring up with a crush. But I am not most people. I have the romantic navigation skills of a blind girl who refuses to ask for directions.

“How did you first talk to Dad?” I asked AM over a pre-operation wine.
“I didn’t. He saw me from across a party and stared at my butt.”
I threw up in my mouth.
“So I am here because of a relationship founded in superficiality?”
It makes sense.
“No. We just talked. I was just myself.”
“Oh.” I swallowed. “So how did you have a second conversation?”
“I was really cute.”

When Being Yourself means talking about criminal offences and admitting that you have no idea what you are doing, attraction does not come easily and the wrong people are going to think you are cute.

Lonely Planet needs to release a Romantic Dictionary, to ensure that Mars and Venus don’t die lonely planets.

The first time a boy talked dirty to me in bed, I stopped, laughed, wondered if he was human and told him to, “Shhhh.”
I knew what was going on, and what he was doing, I just didn’t need to hear about it via slang from Urban Dictionary. He tried to coax me to join in on the banter, but I couldn’t. Pride, respect for the Kings English and an inability to multitask aside, I simply didn’t know what to say.
I had a quick flashback to grade ten, when my German oral test resulted in an English conversation within forty-five seconds, as it was quickly established that I didn’t have a clue how to speak the language.

Being monolingual is nothing new to me.

But unlike sex talk and German, I have studied The Language Of [Lust]. I have investigated, researched and trailed. I should know what I am doing. But instead I am walking right into the Clergy Sex Jokes Arena and few people find that place interesting, sexy or cute.
When I was younger, I knew when to giggle, when to smirk, when to smile and what to say. I firmly believe that the more you know, the less you know, so therefore you have less of an idea of what you are doing. Suddenly, being aware of Who You Are and What You Are Doing makes me…talk about priests taking advantage of little boys.

There is something to be said for not wanting to speak at all to a hot boy, like Absolutely Stunning Hot Boy I Have Now Talked To, for example.
“What are you going to do next then?” My boy friend asked.
“Speak the only language I am actually fluent in.”
“You can’t possibly mean English?”
“Think of it like mathematics. Subtracting things, multiplying other things…”
Just holding my breath, not talking and navigating a way to start something interesting.