Tuesday, 25 July 2017

Swing when you're winning

For a relatively long time - at least, relatively long by his terms - Lightsinthesky was in a relationship with an inexplicably hot girl named Jazz. She was a beauty - olive skin; long, dark, shiny hair; lovely white smile. In fact, I never saw her do anything but smile; she didn't appear to have a voice, other than the occasional nervous giggle. But then, hang around with my school friends, and you'd be nervous too.

She was also, apparently, very good in bed, although I only have Lightsinthesky's word on that, which may be unreliable (he'd spent the last seven years of his life trying to get laid; the fact that he'd recently started having sex was nothing short of a miracle for him); he did, however, manage to make it apparent to the rest of us.

"I hope she gets pregnant," muttered my token black friend resentfully after the four-thousandth "JUST HAD SEX!" text pinged through onto his 'phone.

As the upper sixth rolled around, my token black friend started to get a little more depressed about not being in a relationship himself. Lightsinthesky still had Jazz, as he'd tell anyone who listened, and I had Rebecca. Music Man, always an attractive lad, had girls swarming around him like bees around a honeypot, and despite my thinking it was never going to happen, it certainly did seem like more and more of us were courting.

"Despite being the first of us here to lose my virginity," my friend sulked, "I'm not getting any sex right now. The rest of you -" (I suspect this was a paraphrase, as Einstein certainly wasn't, and Man o' War also wasn't, although not for lack of trying) "- are. Not that I begrudge you or anything, but..."

"Fancy a bit of Jazz?" interjected Lightsinthesky blithely.
"Yeah, all right!"
Lightsinthesky raised a hand to his lips and air-trumpeted When The Saints Go Marching In.

Or so the story goes. You see, that final bit of wondrous wit and ready repartée is apocryphal. I wasn't actually there.

I just heard about it. Several hundred times.

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