are a gold-digger and I can’t see you falling for some trashy fellow just because he’s good looking. I am a loyal friend, I’m honest, reliable, neat and I don’t come with emotional baggage. I do have an ex but she’s been out of the picture for a long time and I’m completely free of her. Never give her a second thought. It’s as if she never existed. Can’t even remember her name. No – I am joking. Her name was Vickie the Vulture….she just hung around waiting for me to die so she could eat me. But I got free and stayed alive and uneaten. And I stand before you a happy, generous, committed man. I will make you the centre of my universe. All I do, will be for you.
Hope you had a fabulous day at the markets and good luck tomorrow at Dr Death’s. I hope he doesn’t flirt with you. I wouldn’t like that at all.
24/05/05 Monday
Good morning sunshine,
It’s a cool May day and you start your new job. You’d probably be up and getting ready. I wonder who will help you with child-care because the surgery is open until six and young Harry finishes school at three. I wouldn’t want the little chap to have to walk home and be there all alone. You must feel like a little girl on her first day of school. I know you’ll do really well. Your personality will endear you to all the patients. Warmth and openness are two of your strong points. By yourself you could heal the sick with a smile.
I like the gap in your teeth. It’s sexy. Different. I hate Hollywood teeth. I hate people who strive to be physically perfect. We are all flawed and to pretend otherwise would be dishonest. All this plastic surgery and botox nonsense is ridiculous. Eat well. Exercise. I mean really, you are what…thirty-seven. You look great. You’ve got the beginning of small lines at the corners of your eyes and a bit of a frown line but you are just you. I don’t know if you dye your hair but I think not. It’s too beautiful a colour to come out of a bottle. Your breasts are real because I saw a bulge of nipple through your green blouse - there was no padded bra and I know they’re not silicone or whatever they use these days because fakes always look too round and high. Yours are what I would expect of someone your age with three kids. God that came out the wrong way. I meant it nicely though. You are a natural woman and I like that about you.
My hair is thinning and because I keep it so short, I sometimes, particularly at a distance, appear to be bald. I like the look. Do you find me attractive, Grace? I’ve got a well-defined body, which you’d know if you ran your hands over my arms, down and back over my tight buttocks. Running keeps me in shape. I’m careful about what I eat. Lots of fruit and vegetables. I don’t smoke. I hope you don’t smoke. I find it a repulsive habit. Your skin is too good to be a smoker. I like my red wine too. A good Pinot Noir hits the spot and I have two cases of Californian Sangiovese that I am getting through slowly. It’s a top drop. I hope to introduce you to it some day.
God, I’ve just looked at the time. I’m running late and no jog this morning. You are becoming something of a distraction, Miss Templar. I don’t mind one little bit, though.
10:30 p.m.
I saw your white Camry out the front of the surgery. You’d left your window half down. This may be a small town but don’t get complacent about security. There’s a Moorebank around every corner. Junkies. The Moorebank men are always drunk and their women, high and pregnant. You’re sure to come across them. They’re hard to miss. The cleaning contractors are still repairing the disaster area left in their wake. I saw one of the girls, Sandy, in the street today. She crossed the road and pretended not to see me. I couldn’t be bothered chasing her to give her a piece of my mind. It wouldn’t have been worth it.
I looked up the sales files today and I found the name of the woman you were chatting to on the
Hope you had a fabulous day at the markets and good luck tomorrow at Dr Death’s. I hope he doesn’t flirt with you. I wouldn’t like that at all.
24/05/05 Monday
Good morning sunshine,
It’s a cool May day and you start your new job. You’d probably be up and getting ready. I wonder who will help you with child-care because the surgery is open until six and young Harry finishes school at three. I wouldn’t want the little chap to have to walk home and be there all alone. You must feel like a little girl on her first day of school. I know you’ll do really well. Your personality will endear you to all the patients. Warmth and openness are two of your strong points. By yourself you could heal the sick with a smile.
I like the gap in your teeth. It’s sexy. Different. I hate Hollywood teeth. I hate people who strive to be physically perfect. We are all flawed and to pretend otherwise would be dishonest. All this plastic surgery and botox nonsense is ridiculous. Eat well. Exercise. I mean really, you are what…thirty-seven. You look great. You’ve got the beginning of small lines at the corners of your eyes and a bit of a frown line but you are just you. I don’t know if you dye your hair but I think not. It’s too beautiful a colour to come out of a bottle. Your breasts are real because I saw a bulge of nipple through your green blouse - there was no padded bra and I know they’re not silicone or whatever they use these days because fakes always look too round and high. Yours are what I would expect of someone your age with three kids. God that came out the wrong way. I meant it nicely though. You are a natural woman and I like that about you.
My hair is thinning and because I keep it so short, I sometimes, particularly at a distance, appear to be bald. I like the look. Do you find me attractive, Grace? I’ve got a well-defined body, which you’d know if you ran your hands over my arms, down and back over my tight buttocks. Running keeps me in shape. I’m careful about what I eat. Lots of fruit and vegetables. I don’t smoke. I hope you don’t smoke. I find it a repulsive habit. Your skin is too good to be a smoker. I like my red wine too. A good Pinot Noir hits the spot and I have two cases of Californian Sangiovese that I am getting through slowly. It’s a top drop. I hope to introduce you to it some day.
God, I’ve just looked at the time. I’m running late and no jog this morning. You are becoming something of a distraction, Miss Templar. I don’t mind one little bit, though.
10:30 p.m.
I saw your white Camry out the front of the surgery. You’d left your window half down. This may be a small town but don’t get complacent about security. There’s a Moorebank around every corner. Junkies. The Moorebank men are always drunk and their women, high and pregnant. You’re sure to come across them. They’re hard to miss. The cleaning contractors are still repairing the disaster area left in their wake. I saw one of the girls, Sandy, in the street today. She crossed the road and pretended not to see me. I couldn’t be bothered chasing her to give her a piece of my mind. It wouldn’t have been worth it.
I looked up the sales files today and I found the name of the woman you were chatting to on the
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