Let me first say that I have seen my fair share of attractive women. However, there have been few, very few, whose beauty has as been arresting as that of one particular girl whom I have recently noticed. And, oh Great Lord Above, what a girl! I cannot even begin to describe her heavenly attributes, but I shall nevertheless try. A shapely figure, a cute, delicate face, soft, brown eyes, ears that one can hardly stop oneself from nibbling, a profile to rival Florence Craye (cookie if you know who she is) and luscious light-chestnut coloured hair, worn in a bun to reveal her neck. And oh, what a sweet, sweet, neck, long and slender; a neck one could gaze at for hours!
Fortunately, I have been afforded the chance to do so. She goes to the same university as me and we attend the same classes. I have noticed her because on three seperate occasions over the past week, fate has placed her in one of the rows directly below me in the auditorium. I must admit that I feel like some simpering, dumb-struck chum out of a P. G. Wodehouse novel.
My problem, however, is this: I wish to approach her, but there are several obstacles in my path. Firstly, my class is made up of 500 people, so it is very difficult to get to know people. Students file into the auditoria for class, and file out again as soon as the bell rings, and I only know the people who are old school mates of mine. Consequently, I know absolutely nothing about her: her name, her origin, whether she's already with someone, even what language she speaks (it's a very international lot here) are all a mystery.
I also go to one of the most anti-social universities imaginable. The Students' Union is a joke, concentrated mainly on their preposterous political posturing rather than organising anything remotely fun. Hence, there are no university parties or get togethers. Classes are mostly in the afternoon and evening, so there's not even the chance to sit at the same table as her at lunch time.
Finally, there is that most redoutable obstacles for the adventurers of the heart: the rather plain best friend. In former times there was usually a myriad of chaperones to ward off the potential cavaliero, and most have swept away in the name of sexual liberation, but there still remains that limpet-like companion, practically denying all chance of a quiet tête à tête.
Any thoughts from the Tavern's seasoned bunch of romancers?
