Since the manager at Sainsbury's asked for my number, I've developed this irrational fear of men asking me out. I'm a really friendly person, and I think my innocent small talk is mistaken for feelings more often than not. Is that how lonely this city is, that a smile makes people fall head over heels? So now I feel uncomfortable talking to the men in my gym too long, which is a shame because they are so nice. But I'd hate if they ruined what we have by asking for my number. I don't need a reason to hate going to work. I don't dance with men too long at clubs, which is part claustrophobia and part not wanting them to get too familiar, and I could treat the men I do know a bit better. I get asked out too often. I feel so selfish complaining about that, because I know there were times in my life (most of my life, quite honestly) I would have given my right arm for the attention I'm recieving now (though of course, getting rid of my right arm would ironically hinder the male attention I seeked). I'm not an unfriendly person though. That's one thing I love about home, is most people are friendly and happy like me. Well outwardly happy, but no matter. I think my environment is to blame. Damn cold, polite, unfriendly London.
A man came into my gym today and signed up for a month. He was over six feet tall, black and had muscles upon muscles upon muscles. I'm nervous right now just thinking about him! What a scary man- and of course, he asked me my name, where I live (WHERE I LIVE?!) and touched my arm when I gave him a cup to get water from. He made me and Kristina so nervous, and of course he liked me. FUCK. Excuse my language, but seriously. As if I wasn't scared enough for my life locking up my work alone at night in a remote alleyway in London.
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