I feel the mental muscle growing and it's such a relief not to be waiting to pounce on the next cue to do my own ego chatter.
Still have to hold my tongue, mind, but i'm getting so much better than i was. ugh and groan what a bore i must have been. yes, i was.
I was swanking to anna about every party being a thrill and a challenge and that i can't wait to meet a rival reformed capper. Duelling Deferrals. I must write a story on the topic.
"Dad! You must! What would it be like?"
'well, as soon as we spotted each other - our CA (Cappers Anon) badges would give us away and the way our hands shook as the conversation crossed into familiar territory - it would be knives out, no trick too dirty.
"So, Eleni, how's the cycling going? What have you got? Raleigh Roustabout? How many gears?"
'Ah bah! i am so bad at it. That corner in Potmos ...' Furtive look at Simon, who owns the cloth-capped penny-farthing - twitching and kneading his napkin. 'Must. not. talk bicyclette'
He'll get me, of course: "Leo, was that your guitar i saw as we came in? what? a Fender?"
'i wish! no, it's just a Squier copy, from Korea, but it plays OK'
Marcus: speaking of fenders, i played a 2nd-hand one at school, sunburst with tremolo and-
Moi - Squier, you say. What model? Not the RG-One Oh - strangled gasp - ah, gee, wonder if there's any more of this wonderful trifle? [close call]
Simon - Do go on, Chris - youre a bit of a strummer y'self, i hear?
Daggers look at El Cloth-capped derailleur. Lin, in her default sotto voce, 'now now boys, calma'. Retreat hissing.
what a wonderful game. Anna - dad! you must write it. as guests leave you can hand them score cards.
Chattus Interruptus - my technique of keeping track of any pretty lady's original topic. i was at a dinner party l'autre soir and the demure young thang to my right mentioned a book she was enjoying - immediately hi-jacked ~ Booker, film treatments, Amazon, books on tape, plus everything everyone else had read blah boast cap cap. DYT went back to pecking at her food.
I left it so long it was laughable: some cocky lad held forth and would not let go. I tilted the bottle for a thimble more into La Demura's glass [not a drinker and I wanted to show i'd noticed] , sotto voce out of the Carrie catalogue, "So, what was the title of the book you're enjoying?"
'Sorry, what? Ohh, right ...'. Seraphic smile, involuntary knee-squeeze sous la table, 'Thank you.' I tell you, this is a highly under-estimated ploy.
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