petite anglaise

I have two simultaneous conversations on gmail chat (also known as a three-way) with my two favouritest and best gay friends. The only background information you need to know is that we had lunch at the Trésor prior to one of my recent dates.

zemickelino to me:   rhino and I said a little prayer for you at Notre Dame des Médailles Miraculeuses after we left you yesterday

me to zemickelino:   wha?!?!

me to rhino:   you *didn’t* really say a prayer for my punani in church yesterday? I’m sure Mickelino is winding me up…

rhino to me:   of course we did! It was the Church of Miracles. bit spooky actually

me to rhino:   you are officially on pre-date praying duty from now on ;-)

zemickelino to me:   did he have nice fesses?

What would I do without these guys?

I knock at the door. Mr Frog answers, wearing his bathrobe. There is no sign of Tadpole, and I raise my eyebrows and look around with a bewildered expression. I have yet to partake of that important first cup of coffee of the day, so verbal minimalism is de rigueur.

Mr Frog leads me into his bedroom, where Tadpole is prostrate on her bed, wearing pyjamas and an extremely wide smile.

“She’s still in bed?” I shriek, “but we have to be at school in twenty minutes! It’s the thing where they are running in the park today, the thing I’m supposed to be supervising.” The thing which seemed like oh such a good idea when I signed up, but coming as it did after a bumper celebratory drinksfest (with some of the nicest people you could ever hope to meet in honour of Anna’s birthday) I was considerably less enthusiastic when it involved me hauling my sorry carcass out of bed at 7.15 this morning.

Mr Frog smiles and shrugs in that very expressive French way he has; one twitch of his shoulders worth a couple of dozen words: well, you know, she’s tired, look at her, she doesn’t really want to get up, and anyway it’s not my problem because you’re the one taking her to school anyway, he he…

Meanwhile. I. Pace.

“What’s got into you today anyway?” says Mr Frog. “You’re making me dizzy. Look at the state of you. Did you stay out last night or something?” I feel the colour rising to my cheeks.

“What? No! Même pas!”

“So what was that thing on your gmail chat status about a date?”

Note to self: must stop being so informative on gmail chat. The whole world may not need to know that I have just picked out all of the chocolate flakes from a box of Nestlé Fitness breakfast cereal, or even (on a more cryptic note) that I have all my bases “uncovered”. And if they do, I should probably do this on twitter, which Mr Frog hasn’t heard of yet.

“Ah, so, um, you saw that, did you? Yes, well. I might have had a drink or two. A very nice drink or two. That’s all.”

Mr Frog smiles a knowing smile. “Well, good for you.”

When I get to school, the running thing is cancelled due to filming in the park. I try not to look too crestfallen at the idea of being able to go back home to bed.