Someone Should Stop Me Falling In Love With The Fastfoto Assistant

Someone ought to stop me falling in love with the assistant
in the Fastfoto shop because I know the Fastfoto assistant is
not my type or rather, shouldn't be any more.

I've had enough of the social inadequates, the ones who allude to their breakdowns the second time you speak to them, the ones who mention their parents in conversation.

But the Fastfoto assistant is clever enough to know about Epicurus and I can't help thinking that this must be a sign. Although the Fastfoto assistant - who made sure I knew their birthday was today - is ludicrously attractive despite being too old, despite admitting that of the three requisites for happiness they had precisely none.

Love's an unsettling thing, banging into me on Christmas Eve when I dash into Fastfoto, desperate for a present. And love makes me invent another excuse, prints I don't want, could make myself - on New Year's Eve too.

The Fastfoto assistant has had a quiet Christmas, just as they like it. I realise this is a lie and the Fastfoto assistant would have liked it better jigging round my tree, playing games at my table with my extended family and kissing under my mistletoe. Kissing.

Already I am wondering about kissing.

And when I assumed the Fastfoto assistant would be going to a party and the Fastfoto assistant said they wouldn't be I left the shop too fast so as to prevent myself inviting the Fastfoto assistant to go with me to a party.

As I didn't have a date.

And I ran out of Fastfoto as fast as a double quick print and made my way across the Square to the safety of a coffee house and sat there, kicking myself, wishing I'd had the balls.

But I didn't.