Wednesday, 4 July 2012
I’ve got it bad. Really bad. Quite possibly worse than my life threatening crush on George Michael in 1984 when I watched the "Club Tropicana" video a zillion times and cried myself to sleep every night because I couldn’t touch those delicious bouffant streaks.
It’s inexcusable really, what with me being a middle aged mother but I can’t help it. I am madly in love with Greg Davies.
There. I said it.
Suddenly I feel twelve again - perched on the bench at the school disco, waiting for Adrian Fowler to ask me to dance to Hot Chocolate’s “It Started With a Kiss”. I can almost feel the itch of my woollen legwarmers and smell the heady scent of Tweed perfume mingled with pre-teen desperation. But my twelve year old crush on Adrian was a perfectly natural part of growing up whereas my forty year old crush on Greg Davies is bordering on the ridiculous. I've watched all the YouTube clips, re-runs of Mock the Week and Never Mind the Buzzcocks. I've even ordered Firing Cheeseballs at a Dog from Amazon. Next I’ll be working out love percentages and practising writing 'Hazel Davies' in my secret diary.
When you’re a six foot tall woman, finding a man taller than you can be challenging. I rather like to feel feminine, despite not being a girly girl. Memories of walking off the kerb so my head was in line with my first boyfriend are excruciating as is the memory of only knowing how to dance the lead at my best friends wedding because I had so often been cast as a man in school dance lessons.
I like the thought of being able to rest my head on a man’s chest without having to crouch down. At 6 foot 8 inches tall and with a lovely broad chest Greg seems like just the man to fit the bill.
But it’s not his glorious stature that I’ve fallen for. He could be 4 foot 11 with a hunchback and a limp and I would still find him insanely attractive. It’s not even his lovely smile or apparently gentle nature (although this helps). It’s quite simply the fact that everything he says makes me laugh like a drain.
You can keep your Gerard Butlers and Brad Pitts. I don't see what all the fuss is about Christian Bale and Matthew McConaughey. Who needs six packs and bulging biceps when you can have warmth and wit? Give me a man who can make me laugh till I’m sore and I’ll be the happiest person alive. It would just be a bonus if his thighs were larger than mine.
So Greg this is for you. Not that you’ll ever read this blog post or know anything about me. But isn’t that what harmless crushes are all about, experiencing the pleasure of something without any of the risks that come with the real thing? Oh and by the way, our love percentage is 98% so if you do see this, call me.