Oh my God.
But before I start: Happy happy mia piccola pomodora The Ant! The delightful woman is 26 today. Here’s to a fantastic day and jolly good celebrations my darling flatmate.
OK. This had me rolling on the floor for half an hour:
SMS: Hello Peas, remember life is a book, read it; love is a blessing, live it; life is a journey, be it. Love from Dee.
Indian international code. Must be from Doc. Since when does he call himself Dee? Maybe he’s smoking Vindaloo Green.
Peas: Dee? Doc?
SMS: No, remember me Deepak? I was at the Indian stand, you ate my curry and bought my poppadums.
Now I knew he’d really been smoking green, I thought ‘Ha ha Doc, you’re so funny you little prankster you.’ Fine. So I played along.
Bwahahahaha, did I have sex with you? And was it good?
There was a kind of silence.
SMS: I don’t understand. I might have the wrong number. Is this Peas?
Doc wouldn’t write that. I paused. And realised with horror, after all the pieces fell into place. This man. Deepak. He. Is. A. Work. Client. I met him at that gastronomic trade show I had to attend a month ago. I had given one of these Delhi residents my business card for a feature I was to write on Indian cuisine. This man was not Doc. Oh my GOD. Oh my bloody Hell and fuck.
Peas: No. This isn’t Peas. I think you have wrong number. Sorry.
SMS: I’m sorry. I thought you were Peas O‘Toast from [food & bev publication], I must have wrong number. Sorry to trouble you, Deepak.
Oh sweet Jesus. All he has to do is look at my business card again, this time under a scrutinous eye, and realise he had, indeed, contacted the right number. It was the formerly very-presentable, sophisticated, business-like and professional deputy editor herself.
I found this monolithically hilarious. Such an astoundingly act of naivety such as I have ever experienced.
PS: Went out and got smashed. It was the plan. C and I dressed up like slutty school girls (my favourite) and we made merry at a hockey club's drinks bash. We seemed to win endless bottles of Brutal Fruit, because everytime we turned around, a free one was given to us. Ever-willing, we smashed them in our faces. First day of Spring feels a little rough. Mating season is upon us.