Dabi's Party: The Saga of Love part 2 (enter Miss Leggy)

Enter Miss Leggy.

For a while now I had been carrying this odd feeling in my breast (maybe odd isn't the right word to use here as my affliction is perfectly common) for a certain Miss Leggy. Miss Leggy is as aptly named as Miss piggy because her legs are as long as Miss Piggy is pig-like.

Miss Leggy and I met in September. When I first met her I wasn't too impressed. I assumed that she was a leggy waif of a thing too uptight to be any real fun. I still believe that this is true. It formed the majority of my opinion about her until I saw her legs. Her legs are a work of art. Slender, unscarred, almost statuesque; it seems a shame that the legs do not have a life of their own that they may be appreciated in isolation. She uses this to her advantage by wearing the shortest skirts known to man. I find it surprising that she manages to be fully functional without revealing her secrets (It is important to note that on Saturday I found her secrets on full display. I was amused.). Miss Leggy is about 80% leg, 20% torso. She is also height appropriate. This is perhaps the most important trait when I look for a suitable candidate on whom to thrust my unwelcome affections.

Miss Leggy was present at Dabi's party. Her dress had once been a peachish pink chiffon tunic, but someone replaced the body with a black cottony spandex material and cut it so severely that it only covered no more than 6 inches of leg. The over zealous tailor had also seen fit to cut panels out of the waist of the dress. The sleeves of the original tunic remained. I think my analogy is wrong because if memory serves me correctly it was not a sleeve but a capelet. The tailor is obviously a legend.

Initially, I had planned to do nothing as nothing hurts more than rejection, but upon seeing some charlatan pursue the object of my infatuation, I was simultaneously enraged and emboldened. I restrategised. PHASE 1: the flight of the Peacock When i turned 19 my brother gave me a book called the Game. This bible of the decadent bachelor introduced me to peacocking. The book describes peacocking as dressing ridiculously in order to attract female attention. My version takes it a step further. I bless the dance floor with a series of movements so statistically unlikely that they stun the subject of my ministrations into silent acquiescence.(No, this is not a dream. Yes, I just wrote that. No, I don't have a dictionary beside me. Summary? BOOM CHAKA WAWA) I begin the ceremony by offering libations to the "ledengary" inner me, to coax him out of hiding. On that night I did not succeed in pulling out as much of the beast as I would have liked because Mike had finished the "chudeneaufa du dè poopie"(Correct pronounciation of Chateauneuf du Pape ). In spite of this I pressed on. It may come as no surprise to you that peacocking failed epically.

PHASE 2: Seduce the mind so that you can have her body (don't take this too seriously. More specifically don't apply any sexual connotations to this statement. I run a "PG" establishment). I planned to search for her soul after I had executed phase 2.

Afam: Hey Leggy can I talk to you? (Leggy was conversing with a friend.)
Leggy: Yeah.

we walk to the centre of the room

Afam: ... Awkward pause
Leggy: Looks at Afam intensely...

Afam: How has your night been?
Leggy: Pretty good thanks. How has yours been?
Afam: Brilliant.
Afam: Where are you headed after?
Leggy: Home; in Edgware
Afam: Edgware?! That's a little far!
Leggy: (giggle) I know. Where are you staying?
Afam: Just round the corner, with a friend...
Leggy: Cool, I have to go talk to my friend now. Do remember to say goodbye.

Yes friends, that was it. I retreated to the dining room with my tail between my legs. Thanks to Mike I could not drown my sorrows. Thus ended the saga of love.

Happy Days,
Afam