How do you spell van Nistelrooy?

So me and best friend end up at the local pub on a Sat night and prop up the bar, all the tables being full. It wasn't long before two gents plonked themselves down beside us, a fact announced by a gallon of aftershave announcing their imminent arrival. "Like my aftershave?" says Bloke No. 1. Followed very quickly by his whole life story. Turns out he is Dutch. In an effort to get a word in, Red Fox says "Do you know van Nistelrooy?" (Perhaps a better question should have been "Do you know the Director of ING since that is where I have stashed all my mad money and I'm gonna be mad if it disappears..."). Well, they didn't, but they were kinda fun to talk to and it was better than talking to the cat but still....they can't hold a candle to Mr. H. Or sexy guy. But then, who can?

What Kind of Investment Banker Rides the Bus?

I've met an investment banker. Not sure how good an investor he is seeing as I met him on the bus. Plonking myself down one day I accidentally sat on his jacket and nearly strangled him. The next day I happened to sit down behind him. The fox, being utterly unable to even read an e-mail on the bus without feeling decidedly ill, admires anyone who can (a) read a novel or (b) work on a laptop while on the bus. Mr. IB was working on his laptop. Hmm. Now while I have developed an uncanny inability to read small print right in front of my face, I can read e-mails very well from 10' feet away. So I check out what he is doing. And he's buying, and selling, and holding. Hmm, he could hold me if he liked.

But, later that night while I'm waiting at the bus exchange, who gets off the bus and gazes right into my eyes, yes, Mr. IB. Maybe tomorrow I'll say hello. Maybe.

Who dressed you?

Well, sexy guy came to town and I was to meet him for dinner. Not being the nervous type, I show up 45 minutes early and then have to hide in my car on a side road. 43 minutes very slowly go by. 2 minutes to go. I look at my chest - just to make sure it is still there. But wait. Something looks odd. I'm wearing a sexy little camisole and flimsy cardigan (no forward planning here!), and the camisole is back to front. Now it is 1 minute to sexy guy. I peel off my cardigan almost as fast as I bet he could, wriggle my camisole round and put back on cardi, all the while hoping the local residents are not looking at this unexpected peep show.

Now I'm in danger of being late, and my face is beet red 'cos I'm hot. Hope it will cool down in the remaining 30 seconds cos I wanna look "hot" not hot. Walk into the restaurant and 5 guys swivel round to look at me. Either I look superb or I look like hell. I'll take the former. And then I get a text "Gonna be 15 minutes late...."