Hi, I'm Richey Davis and this is the truly amazing story of my day.
Have you ever been 'singing' a tune in your head, only to turn on the radio and hear that very same song being played over the airwaves? Bizarre I know, but that was how my day started. The song, 'Don't Marry Her' by the Beautiful South had invaded my dream sleep and lodged itself so firmly in my awakening brain as I moved groggily between bedroom and bathroom that, by the kitchen, I was singing it aloud.
As songs go it was quite apt, given my particular circumstances, a wry smile at the acerbic lyrics that spilled from my lips. But then to flick on the radio and immediately hear the self same song blaring out stopped me dead in my tracks, mouth agape, a shiver running down my spine. At the time I had little idea what the incident foretold, dismissing it as pure coincidence.
After the events of the previous day, to say I needed a boost was an understatement. Not only had I managed to lose my job, have my car stolen and throw away a grand playing cards, I'd been dumped by my girlfriend just as I was on the verge of proposing.
Being fired I could handle. Unhappy in my job for a good six months and constantly on the lookout for something better, it could well do me a favour in the long run. The theft of the black XR3i was harder to take, more for sentimental reasons than monetary. The last link to my rapidly eroding youth, it had been my most faithful companion for nearly two decades. The loss of the £1,000 I really could do without, given my newfound unemployment, though hopefully the insurance payout would just about cover the debt.
So whilst they were irksome losses, they were not terminal. Unlike the fourth and final indignity when Debbie, my girlfriend of three years, informed me that I was history. I had a week to pack my things and get the hell out of her life and, no, she didn't want to discuss it. So not only did I be lose the lover I'd considered spending the rest of my life with, but the roof over my head too.
As bad days went, yesterday had been the worst ever in thirty-five years on earth.
* * *
Still in a dressing gown as the Beautiful South serenaded my broken heart, I glanced despairingly at the mound of unpaid bills that were a major contributory factor in the break-up. Okay, I should have spent less time in the pub and the bookies, a lot less money too, but that was part of my cheeky chappie appeal, wasn't it?
As the song on the radio, my song, came to an all-too-abrupt end, I sighed whimsically for the past, craving a nice cup of tea. Searching desperately in the fridge for milk, the telltale cereal bowl on the draining board did not bode well. Sure enough, next to it stood the empty carton. Crap, Debbie's daughter Shannon had used the last of the milk on her cornflakes. In my current state of body and mind, the prospect of a ten-minute walk to the shops held little appeal. "Give me a break," I pleaded, looking skyward.
It was then that the doorbell rang and I pursed my lips in surprise. Tugging the front of the dressing gown together, I trudged off down the hall, trying to introduce some positive thoughts into the malaise. Perhaps some nymphomaniac blonde who wanted to shag the life out of me stood on the other side of the door or, failing that, the milkman. I smiled inwardly, at least my legendary sense of humour prevailed.
As the door came open in my hand I was forced to do a double-take. Did wishes really come true? Had I not just asked for...? Standing on the step, bathed in sunshine, was possibly the sexiest blonde I'd seen outside of the movies. My eyes dropped in deference at this rare beauty. In open-toe red and white sandals, she was all legs, legs that seemed to go on forever, until a pair of skimpy yellow hotpants intervened.
My eyes elevated past the crotch, an outline of pussy just visible, to settle on a pair of boobs that were to die for. Pleasantly conical with hard thumb-sized nipples that pressed enthusiastically at a tight white tank top, they jiggled as she shifted position.
After those other treasures, it stood to reason that her looks might not add up, but none of it. This indeed was my lucky day. She had large and expressive egg-white eyes were populated with piercing blue irises, a small aesthetically pleasing nose and what can only be described as blowjob lips. It was a perfect combination the geeks from Weird Science would have struggled to better. But to top things off nicely, her hair was a shoulder length sun-bleached blonde. Wow.
Shaking my head to ensure it wasn't a dream, I noticed she was holding a cup, whilst smiling reticently, lips pouting like a goldfish. "Hi, I'm Zara, I just moved in next door. I know this, um, sounds a little corny," she began with a nervous yet endearing giggle to her voice, "but can I borrow some sugar?"
The oldest pickup in the book, I had to smile at the irony and of my own plight, thinking quickly on my feet. "Tell you what, Zara, I'll trade my sugar for a drop of your milk."
She smiled back, a beautiful angelic sight. "Well why don't you bring your sugar next door," she added, handing over the cup.
"I'll be two minutes," I replied, hoping beyond hope that she was alone.
* * *
Well not only was she alone, but ALONE, I learned, after the cup of tea I'd yearned for was quickly followed by her life story. Recently divorced, she confided, she was making a fresh start in a new neighbourhood. Astounding as it was to believe, there was some guy out there crazy enough to reject this exquisite beauty. His loss, my gain, I thought, getting way ahead of myself.
I noticed that a few boxes in the hall still needed to be unloaded and, anxious for an excuse to spend some more time in her company, I enquired: "Can I give you a hand with anything while I'm here?"
Zara contemplated the offer before consenting: "Yeah okay, I could do with a strong man to help with some of the heavier stuff."
