I’d say to her…
I’d say,
“Hiya Gorgeous!”
And she was bleedin’ gorgeous, so she was. Yellow hair going all the way down to her pretty wee waist. Had a shine off it, like gold, so it was. Like them ones you see on the telly selling shampoo. Emerald eyes and skin like something out of a magazine. Except pure, ya know?
Not some thrashy glamour model type. Legs, long as the river Liffey. That’s no lie. Plenty of lads be nervous around a lass like that. But not me.
“How-a-ya, Gorgeous?”
I’d say it to her, so I would. Every day… she’d be walking past me and the lads, workin’ on da site. Throwin’ her head back in laughter. Being gorgeous, and all that. With her pals, on da way to the college, so they were.
‘I don’t think she hears ya, Johnny,’ the lads would say
‘Oh, she hears me alrigh,’
‘She’s just being gorgeous.’
That’s what gorgeous girls do, don’t ya know? Pretend they can’t hear ya. All the while, they’d be loving the attention. Them types think it’s all they need to be. Gorgeous means never having to try. Ya know what I mean? Not even mannerly when fellas be saying hi to them and giving them compliments. It’s not right, so it’s not. Me ma always said manners didn’t cost ya nothin’. Right after she’d crack me up the side of the head for havin’ me elbows on da table or somethin’ stupid like that.
Now here’s the thing. I don’t like being disrespected, and I don’t reckon that makes me strange. Being gorgeous is no excuse for disrespecting a fella. And a college girl, to boot. A bit unfair if you ask me. Probably reckons she’s got life in the bag. Me just being friendly, and her laughing. Mocking me with her stuck-up college friends. Going around looking all gorgeous. And not even being grateful when a fella notices.
Got me all wound, so it did. Wound up real tight. And that’s not right. Night classes be on a Thursday. Not safe for a looker like herself, being gorgeous out there on her own.
When I grabbed her by the back of her long yellow hair that night. Pulling it nice and tight and slipped me arm around that pretty, wee waist. Pressin’ me blade hard against her.
I say to her…
I say,
“Hiya Gorgeous!”
She started to remember her manners, so she did. Oh, they were coming out in floods now. Emerald eyes bleeding black mascara down her face. Until it met the pointy end of me blade, right along the fleshy part of her cheek. As I pressed it into her flesh and dragged it all the way to her earlobe, all the tightness left me body. I’d made things right.
I’d say to her…
I’d say,
‘Not so gorgeous now, ah ya love?’