Just a spot of story.

This morning I was playing on my laptop and listening to Rick Astley. 

Incidentally, this song is amazing.

But anyway. Was playing on the laptop, listening to the Astley, and decided, "Hey. I might write something that isn't an assignment!"

So here you go. Very silly, very short, but I do also need to get out of bed and do things.

I don’t remember why I agreed to this.

I’m panicking.

I mean, if he likes me and decides that he wants this infernal thing to continue then I’m going to have to marry the guy because there’s not a chance on this sweet sweet earth that Nana will let me get out of it and then I’m going to have to escape my own wedding to flee to Mexico and start a new life under a new name –

Carmen, calm the flip down.

Though it is probably still best that I have my getaway name planned. There’s no way I can pull off any South American or, eugh, Spanish accents, but that doesn’t stop me from pretending I’m the love child of two hippies in the Australian bush somewhere.

“Carms?”

I turn to look at Lorena. “Chakra Sunrise Bloom.”

“Are you high?”

“No. It’s my getaway name.”

“Okay. One, you have getaway cars, not getaway names. Two, it’s a little early to be thinking about your escape to Mexico. Yes, I know you have an escape to Mexico planned,” she says in response to my wounded look. “But there is every likelihood you’ll say something ridiculous and he will want the getaway car.”

“What? I’m a perfectly lovely person.”

“You do have the tendency to blather on about directors and films that no one has heard of. That’s another thing – don’t subject him to your idiotic rambling about Bollywood movies. Yes, I know there are so many genres within Bollywood, and that no one appreciates that, but something else? That never improved my life the way you thought it would. I daresay he’s in the same boat.”

Younger sisters. They go out a few times before you do, and suddenly they’re the ones slinking into your room and offering advice before you date.

Then again, it could be vastly worse. It could be my mother in here offering advice.

Or Nana.

“Where is Nana?” I say, just to be on the safe side.

“She’s coming over for dinner, so she’ll be here when you get back.”

Suddenly, fleeing to Mexico becomes appealing for so many other reasons.