i want to look inside your head
As his confidence grew he followed me into my favourite local pubs. I first noticed him when I left the ladies room. He was leaning against the wall. As I walked passed I heard him quietly sing. Like you hear leaves rustling, just there and natural. I thought he was a gentle natured giant singing a sweet song. Nothing ominous, as our eyes met, smiled, he stopped singing as I blushed.
Soon after I started noticing him everywhere I went. I’d catch his eye across a crowed room, hear him singing as I left the ladies room, bump into him at the bar ordering drinks. We barely spoke. My friends told me he was a prop on the high-school first rugby team, not a man of many words. He used a few of those words to prop-position me, a few more to tell my friends and the rugby team, we were dating.
As if saying it would make it so
I politely turned down his prop-positions, told my friends that I had not dated him, had no intenion of dating him. I didn’t think that neanderthal was your type… …normally it’s the hookers you have to look out for, you can see the props coming… close friends didn’t buy his story. Persisiting, he started turning up at my home, writing letters, song lyrics transcribed followed by some of his own mechanistically pornographic explanations of why I should date him.
He didn’t understand a polite assertive no, I’m not interested
He didn’t understand a screaming, swearing, spitting version of **** off and leave me alone
I moved home, moved cities,, moved home several more times before I finally got away from him. ‘Where do you go to my lovely is probably a beautiful song, unfortunately I’ll never really be able to hear it as beautiful.
Peter Sarstedt sang Where Do You Go To My Lovely