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31_days2006-04-25 11:49 pm
tortillafactory.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2006-04-25 11:49 pm
[25 April] [James Bond] Une petite danoise
Title: Une petite danoise
Day/Theme: April 25th - Like reading Proust in Chinese
Series: James Bond
Character/Pairing: Bond/...some girl, come on, just play along
Rating: PG-13
"No, you're right - you can do all sorts of useful things with that. Like...reading Proust in Chinese."
I hate to be pedantic, but I wouldn't need to know French to read Proust in Chinese, and I point this out to her. She gives me a look, and downs another shot of Absolut.
Well, what the hell did she expect? One thing led to another, a few private tutoring sessions ended up being the sort of wild, scrabbling, up-against-the-wall encounters that Hollywood doesn't dare show. That was all. So I spent the night - I was tired. Unfortunately she's the sort of woman who's probably never brooked a refusal in her life. (She tells me she is "working towards fellowship," which I suspect won't involve much more than ducking under the Bursar's desk for a bit. Women who look like that don't need qualifications; I ought to know. I carried on with her tutoring even when it became clear that she's an utterly miserable teacher.)
She tells me no man has broken up with her before. I explain, patiently, that there's nothing to break. We had a bit of fun - that was all. Many women I would humour with gently vague declarations of sentiment, but I have no patience for her anymore. She thinks the world belongs to her because she's beautiful - and I don't suppose my staying to argue with her is giving her a terribly contrary idea.
I've told her I'm quitting, and she's trying to convince me I won't be able to survive without Danish. French? Chinese? German? Russian? All trivial. Danish is the new black.
Really.
"Excuse me," I say, finally. I duck outside as if I've just recieved a silent signal from my mobile. But then I keep walking, faster and faster, hoping she doesn't see me, knowing that she can and probably does.
I can feel her eyes on the back of my head, a hundred yards away.
Two hundred.
And she doesn't ring.
She doesn't beg me to come back.
No, James, please.
James, James. I love you, I can't live without you, I need you.
Well, sorry darling - I'm as good as gone.
No!
Yes!
Click!
So very satisfying.
Only she doesn't ring.
And I, free at last, remember to tell myself this is what I wanted.
Day/Theme: April 25th - Like reading Proust in Chinese
Series: James Bond
Character/Pairing: Bond/...some girl, come on, just play along
Rating: PG-13
"No, you're right - you can do all sorts of useful things with that. Like...reading Proust in Chinese."
I hate to be pedantic, but I wouldn't need to know French to read Proust in Chinese, and I point this out to her. She gives me a look, and downs another shot of Absolut.
Well, what the hell did she expect? One thing led to another, a few private tutoring sessions ended up being the sort of wild, scrabbling, up-against-the-wall encounters that Hollywood doesn't dare show. That was all. So I spent the night - I was tired. Unfortunately she's the sort of woman who's probably never brooked a refusal in her life. (She tells me she is "working towards fellowship," which I suspect won't involve much more than ducking under the Bursar's desk for a bit. Women who look like that don't need qualifications; I ought to know. I carried on with her tutoring even when it became clear that she's an utterly miserable teacher.)
She tells me no man has broken up with her before. I explain, patiently, that there's nothing to break. We had a bit of fun - that was all. Many women I would humour with gently vague declarations of sentiment, but I have no patience for her anymore. She thinks the world belongs to her because she's beautiful - and I don't suppose my staying to argue with her is giving her a terribly contrary idea.
I've told her I'm quitting, and she's trying to convince me I won't be able to survive without Danish. French? Chinese? German? Russian? All trivial. Danish is the new black.
Really.
"Excuse me," I say, finally. I duck outside as if I've just recieved a silent signal from my mobile. But then I keep walking, faster and faster, hoping she doesn't see me, knowing that she can and probably does.
I can feel her eyes on the back of my head, a hundred yards away.
Two hundred.
And she doesn't ring.
She doesn't beg me to come back.
No, James, please.
James, James. I love you, I can't live without you, I need you.
Well, sorry darling - I'm as good as gone.
No!
Yes!
Click!
So very satisfying.
Only she doesn't ring.
And I, free at last, remember to tell myself this is what I wanted.