Sunday, July 02, 2006

A game to remember

Since the World Cup started I usually go to a cafe near by. It's small, usually quiet, a bit expensive but with no minimum charge (an egyptian discovery where you pay for simply sitting either you order something or not) and the best thing is that I get to have my way; volume up, volume down, AC up, AC down, narration in english instead of arabic. Short, I feel like I own the place.

Sadly that was not the case today. A group of 4 girls showed up announcing that they will be a party of 16 (they were actually 18, liars). So my dreams of spending the afternoon watching the game were evaporated and replaced with patiance and self control to handle cigarettes, shrieks and loud LOUD voices.

I like to watch people, so when they settled down and the guys started showing I knew they weren't older than 18. Girls have a tendency to look older than they really are. At 18 it's a plus. The older you get the more that plus turns into a minus.

Anyway, the game was goin (England and Portugal by the way) and I was sitting alone waiting for my best friend to come. She was late but I didn't mind. The game wasn't exciting, normal....

And then I noticed it. He was looking, no not looking, staring. And when I looked, he would look the other way, chat abit with his friends, then return looking at me.

The game went on, both games actually. He looks, I look, Figo passes the ball, Beckham cuts in, he looks away, Rooney is running with the ball, he looks again, a corner is played.... I adjust my top, maybe it's a bit low cut, maybe he's just staring at my boobs (they're not that big to be stared in, but hey maybe it's his taste)... Nope, not the boobs. Maybe my skirt is hiked up. I have finally decided to wear a skirt today. It's an extinct piece of clothing to me, so maybe I just forgot how to operate it. Nope the skirt is fine.

He then looked again. And that's when I realised he was looking into my eyes. Not down my shirt or up my skirt. I have an admirer.

When my friend came, I told her and she noticed it too. And then we had this conversation:
D: "That's nice.."
Me: "No it's not. I feel like I'm being watched. I don't like this feeling. Besided he's a kid, he's 18"
D: "In 20 years you'll be happy to have an 18 year old boy look at you like this"
Me: "Actually I think it will be sooner, like in probably 10... and he's not bad looking"
D: "I don't like how he looks. I don't like his bone structure. You know how certain people's looks can make you nervous, even if the person is the sweetest, cutest human being in the world? He looks like that, at least to me."

Penelty shoot out. Some english player shoots and Ricardo, the portugese goal keeper saved it. I screamed, applauded, thinking that Ricardo is my new Hero (it's obvious that I am a Portugal fan). "It's a goal" he said, to my surprise. Without thinking I responded "No it's out, it's not a goal" racing to watch the reply to make sure I was right. With the corner of my eye I saw him grinning. He only said that so I could speak to him. Awwwww....

So contrary to what I said to D. I liked being watched today. It made me feel special, beautiful, attractive and able to turn a head or two. It also gave me something to write about.
Congrats to Portugal and thank you young man for making my day.


Blogger Carmen said...

It's fun to play with the young ones :)

8:38 AM  
Blogger Alina said...

Eve, I watched the end of the game while eating at Mc. Yeah, McDonalds brought these huge screens to air the games! I supported Portugal and yes, the keeper was amazing.

As for the fresh blood you mentioned, if you thought he was cute and you noticed it wasn't hormones speaking thing, you are quite right to feel special!

9:27 AM  
Blogger Eve said...

S LOL actually he was playing with me. And Alina it was special, I had been some time since I had felt special, and this was what I needed to make my morals go up a bit.

5:03 PM  

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