Love in the Time of Vodka

31 January 2008

The room is crowded, close; warmed by the heat of our bodies. Coy glances and suggestive smiles slide between us as, men and women both, we press and squeeze past each other. Young, attractive, we loiter in easy anticipation of the stimulation to come. And then the lecturer walks in.

Yep, lectures. Not exactly what you’d think of as a hotbed of desire, but dim the lights, add a few gallons of VK apple and voila, you’ve got Cindies. An exaggeration perhaps, but unless you really believe that alcopops and ‘Don’t cha’ are the only reasons erotic currents run high in a room packed with young people, there’s at least a spark of truth.

You see, I find intellect quite incredibly sexy. But, before deformed and tortured geniuses of the world trample over their almanacs in the rush to reach me first—not quite that sexy. Unless you wear an oddly seductive mask, live in the bowels of the Paris Opera House and are generally known as “The Phantom”, you really needn’t bother. However, when a mighty mind sits inside a buff bod, bring out the dictionary…

It’s no small coincidence that my first kiss in Cambridge was in the library. Or that my last kiss was with someone who’d won University Challenge. But of all things bright and beautiful, the Lord God made one particularly gorgeous specimen. And he’s not just in my lectures, he gives the lectures.

I’m finally having the schoolgirl crush my very girly girls’ school never offered. I feel myself dissolve into pink blobs of adoration as he walks into the room. His jokes are the pinnacle of wit. His remarks absolutely incontestable. His jacket indubitably the height of academic fashion. One can only imagine how good he’d look without it…

Of course he’s got the usual pesky wife (Why do all academics marry young? Who am I supposed to marry if they’re all taken?) but seeing as I’ve never, spoilt child that I am, wanted anything I could actually have, distant worship suits me just fine. And what’s even more fine, is that I’ve been to more lectures this term than in the whole of my previous seven. I’m getting cleverish. Which is probably a good thing if I want to marry some handsomish intellectual. Although as my DoS thinks I’m going to marry a mere millionaire, perhaps I shouldn’t be too ambitious.