03/02/2016
SadChantal 20.04
Girl? I’m not sure I still qualify as a girl at 33 :-(
03/02/2016
AlfreDario77 20.04
You may be 33 but you look about 25. And you're still a girl at 25, trust me!
03/02/2016
SadChantal 20.05
If you say so...
03/02/2016
AlfreDario77 20.05
So you still haven’t answered my question. How come a GIRL as hot as you isn’t married or in a relationship?
03/02/2016
SadChantal 20.06
Ermmm....next question please!
03/02/2016
AlfreDario77 20.06
Ooops...have I touched a nerve?
03/02/2016
SadChantal 20.06
I’ll say... And what about you? Married?
03/02/2016
AlfreDario77 20.07
That’s touched a nerve right here too… :-(
03/02/2016
SadChantal 20.07
Wow. Love is definitely NOT in the air around here!
03/02/2016
AlfreDario77 20.07
You're not wrong, SadChantal. Is that why you’re sad? Did your last relationship go tits up?
03/02/2016
SadChantal 20.08
Maybe...But love’s not the only reason. What about you anyway? What’s the deal with your name?
03/02/2016
AlfreDario77 20.09
Just paying a little tribute to my 2 favourite directors: Alfred Hitchcock and Dario Argento.
OK, so apart from love, what's making you sad, gorgeous?
03/02/2016
SadChantal 20.09
I’m just going through a rough time...I’d rather not talk about it.
03/02/2016
AlfreDario77 20.10
Understood. We’ll talk about something else shall we?
03/02/2016
SadChantal 20.10
:-)
03/02/2016
AlfreDario77 20.10
Hmmm...we need something a bit more fun and light-hearted...
03/02/2016
SadChantal 20.11
Anything would be more fun and light-hearted than the last year of my life.
Go on, fire away...
03/02/2016
AlfreDario77 20.12
It might not be the most fun and light-hearted topic for most people,
but it is for me: What do you do? For work, I mean.
Chantal sat motionless in front of her PC. It was unbelievable how this guy had managed to hit her where it hurt. He’d started with family, then moved on to love, and finally, in an attempt to talk about something more “fun and light-hearted”, he'd delivered the coup de grace.
Work had been a sore point for a while now.
She began to tap away at the keyboard, and her words appeared on the screen.
“Fuck off,” she muttered, burying her head in her hands.
She deleted what she had just typed, reducing the message window to nothing but a flashing cursor.
The thirty-three-going-on-twenty-five-year-old girl got up from her swivel chair and headed into the kitchen.
“Where the fuck are they?” she asked herself, scanning the table she hadn’t cleared from earlier.
Nothing. They weren’t there.
She cast her eyes over to the shelf by the sink.
They weren’t there either.
She puffed out her cheeks in frustration and headed for the living room hoping for better luck. She raised a finger to her mouth and began to bite nervously on her nail. Her eyes were darting around the room: the glass coffee table, the shelving unit on the wall, the old writing desk...
“There you are!”
She walked over to the antique piece of furniture and grabbed the packet of Philip Morris. She took a cigarette from the pack and lit it, hoping that the nicotine would somehow inspire her to create a cover story that could mask what she had really, shamefully, done for a living.
By the time she had returned to the bedroom, the cigarette was already half smoked, and a couple of pieces of ash fell to the tiled floor.
“Dammit!” she admonished her own carelessness.
She was about to go back in the kitchen to fetch an ashtray, and a damp sponge to clean up the fallen ash, when her PC emitted a familiar ping.
She peered at the screen. There were four new messages.
03/02/2016
AlfreDario77 20.16
Hello?
03/02/2016
AlfreDario77 20.17
Don’t tell me I’ve touched another nerve with work!
03/02/2016
AlfreDario77 20.20
You still there?
03/02/2016
