After you…

Okay, so as you’ve noticed daily blogging is a thing of the past, but never fear, I’m sure I will continue to publish far too many pointless entries for months, if not years, to come. I didn’t post yesterday because I went out drinking with my new flatmates, and while I got in earlier than with the mature students (2am last night, the old fogies outlasted the young guns)  I had a great night and attended my very first foam party.

I was a little fragile this morning, but am now okay, if slightly worn out. I also talked to several new people about rugby, Ireland, history and dispensed drunken advice.

But I digress, this post is all about something that happened earlier in the week, on Thursday morning after coming back from Rhod’s.

I’d caught the train back from way up in the valleys and spent the journey feeling knackered but surprisingly upbeat, laughing along to a Frank Skinner podcast (one of my faves, but there’s a whole top 5 podcasts post that’s bound to happen sooner or later).

frank skinner

In it Frank discussed not helping a woman at the airport because she was too good looking, and he felt everyone would judge him for helping thinking he was being a lech or something.

His co presenter Emily Dean said that this was fair enough, because good looking people get things anyway, similar to 30 Rock’s theory of “the bubble”.

As the train arrived in Cardiff I got to my feet and walked towards the door, in front of me were a couple of people, including a rather attractive young lady.

The doors opened and a few people filed off, and myself and the lady were both in line for the door. I waved her ahead and she thanked me with a delightful smile which made me feel like a chivalrous legend. But then I noticed off to the side was a guy waiting to disembark. He was smiling too.

But his smile seemed to be saying: “Look at this geeky fool smiling because a pretty girl smiled at him. That’s the only reason he let her off is because in some pathetic way he imagines that this tiny gesture will in some way make him seem like a more desirable mate.”

Well, that’s what it said to me, anyway. Not wanting to be viewed as a sad loser who only does nice things for attractive ladies I let the guy go first.

This is so stupid. I doubt the guy even cared, or thought about it and I know her looks weren’t the deciding factor. I’d have let anyone off first, I wasn’t in a rush and I’m reasonably well mannered, so why do I have to overthing and get uptight about a fleeting interaction that means sod all. What the hell is wrong with me?

Any thoughts? You know what to do. BETEO.

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