Opening a Can of Worms

I hadn't had any contact with anybody from home, apart from Helen, who I was still a little bit madly in love with interested in. We had been chatting on Facebook for almost a week when an opportunity came up for me to go to London, where she was at university. I didn’t want my purpose to come across, so I posted some very unsubtle hints on my wall as to where I was, and she fell into the trap by asking how long I was going to be in London: conversation had begun.

As I look back over the messages, I’m not quite sure what my plan was, I can see the use of words such as ‘correctomundo’ and hints of where I was in relation to the Monopoly board, which scares me a little. Anyway, after chatting for a bit she said that she was going to head out to get some food. Like a loyal dog, I waited at my computer.

My patience was rewarded when she said the magical phrase ‘I don’t have a can opener’. I checked the kitchen drawer and saw a beautiful, glistening tin opener. This would be my way in, I told Helen of my discovery and then she asked if I fancied bringing it over.

I freaked out, this is exactly what I wanted; I hadn't expected this to happen at all. I thought that I could only mess this up, so I called Thierry (If you can’t remember, Thierry is my flatmate who is very successful with the opposite sex). His advice pretty much boiled down to: Go for it.

I quickly changed, put aftershave on, and then told her an excuse for why I haven’t responded for over 10 minutes, something about soup, and I began to follow Thierry’s advice. Well, maybe I came on a little strong. I asked for her postcode, found her on google maps, worked out a route, and told her that I knew the way (I didn't). I then asked her what the nearest tube station was, how long the walk would take, and whether I should get a bus.

Then I put all my creative energies into the phrasing of this question. Something to appear alluring and interesting:

so! How badly do you need this can opener?

I waited…

I see that she is typing and finally the message appears:

well, I’m going out in 5 mins ish so not terribly

When I returned back to Warwick, Thierry had told all my flatmates what had happened. It took a while before they would stop asking me to help them open tins.

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