13:45 - 08.10.06
Just recently, I've had an awful lot of attention from lonely, drunken men on late night buses. They love me, they want to hug me, they assure me they'd marry me if only I'd agree. It's all very flatting in a "get away from me you urine-scented lump of knobsnot and please don't freak out at my rejection and ram a needle in my eye" kind of a way.
Last night, Kitty and I had to call on our friendly neighbourhood bartender to remove yet another overly amorous rapidly balding gentleman from his position around our shoulders.
And these past few weeks, while I've been temping down the red light district, I've had more than my fair share of wolf-whistles and slow-moving vehicles sliding along beside me.
But all of this attention I have been putting down to beer, desperation and the misapprehension that I actually charge for my sexual services; I hadn't stopped to consider that perhaps I am utterly irresistable.
But today I was in WH Smith, browsing their not-very-good Buy One Get One Half Price book offer, when a small boy (perhaps three years old, but as my knowledge of children is limited to one Christmas spent dangling Weebles in front of my then-boyfriend's baby niece he could well have been nine or ten and just not very good at walking) threw himself to his knees in front of me and began kissing my shoes, urging his father to join in.
"The green shoes, Daddy!" he cried. "Come and kiss the green shoes!"
"Oh my god," muttered the mortified man, dragging the child away from me by the ear. "I am so embarrassed."
But I just stood there beaming at him. Because - assuming, as you have to do, that the toddler was sober - there was only one conclusion I could come to. Yes, that kid, and the drunks on the buses, and the leches in the pub, and the cruisers down the docks, are worshipping at my feet because they must recognise me as some kind of mortal goddess. Perhaps one day there will be parades in my honour? T-shirts with my face emblazoned on them? Public holidays on my birthday? Perhaps one day I will even have a month named after me? And, given the choice, I think I'd like June - which shall henceforth by known as Mistamber.