Today, I brought Danny into my world.
Well. Okay. So I didn't bring him into my real world. The one up here in my room. With my fluffies, and Moochie, and my book of doodles and scribbles and rambles. That would be embarrassing. I'm a grown woman, after all. Don't want to scare him away just as we've hit this vital point in our...whatever it is that's going on with us.
Not that I want to keep that a secret, of course. To get to know the full and uncensored version of Clara Kennedy, then all the wonderful things that I love and adore come within the package. You must come to adore Moochie as much as I do. You need to embrace the fluffies and address them as if they are real. And you've most definitely got to accept that I have a Diary.
That's what I'm mostly worried about, Diary. I'm worried that if I tell him about you, that he'll think I'm a child. When, you know, there are lots of people out there with diaries. It's a form of release, isn't it? If you've had a great day, you just want to write it all down for you to remember. And if you've had a shit day...well, let's just say you're a lot healthier than the alternative.
So instead of bringing him into this place where only my closest friends come, I took him to work.
Okay, I know what you thinking. 'What on earth are you doing taking him to Sudsy, Clara? It's not like there's anything worthwhile to do there apart from watch you working. Why the hell did you think he would be interested in all of that?'
I'm just going to stop you right there, pardon my interruption. It wasn't my idea. It was his. Yeah, bet you're feeling a little silly right now, aren't you? Having a go at me for potentially boring him to the point of no return, when actually it was all his idea. So yeah. I expect an apology in the near future. Okay? Good.
As I was saying. I brought Danny to work. It all came about when we were walking around London. We'd actually casually bumped into each other randomly in Tesco. I desperately needed wicks for the candles I'm planning. He needed cigarettes. And what do you know? Fate happened to decide that we were to meet at the counter. And naturally, we couldn't deny fate, could we?
So around London we went. Stopping off at a little ice cream shop along the way. I must have announced at some point my undying love for toffee ice cream. You know what I mean. The kind with the little chunks of toffee in it. So you're innocently eating this ice cream and then bam, you come across a chunk of fudge. Dear God, Diary. If you haven't tried it, then you simply must. I mean it. I've never meant anything so much in my life...
Anyway. Ice cream happened. And then we were just walking around for a bit. Just talking about everything and anything. And that's when he asked me what I did for a living.
To be honest, I was a little surprised that I hadn't told him what I do. It's something that I've always bored the life out of anyone that I possibly can with. I mean, I run my own shop. I'm only 26, and yet I've managed to become relatively successful in my life with my own shop. How many people can say that? Not many, I don't think.
I'm not big-headed or anything. You know that. I'm just proud of it. All those girls in school that wanted to be models and the guys that wanted to be spacemen...how many of them managed to accomplish what they wanted? None, from what I've heard. But me? I followed my dream and managed to catch it in my hands. I opened my own little shop in the heart of London, away from all the grand shops you all know about. Little Sudsy, the place that you stumble across and never regret. That's what I want to be known as.
But turns out I hadn't told him. Naturally, he got an earful the second he mentioned. Every detail of my rise to glory spewed out of my mouth at a million miles an hour, all at the simple question of 'what d'you do for a living?' A bit over the top, perhaps. But that's who I am. I'm a rambler. And he sure let me ramble.
