… so don't take this so literally.

The library has been my second home. Hilarious incidents happen there. I told you one a week ago and I’ve got another one here.

When I lack sleep I tend to be a lot more sarcastic than usual and my humour goes on ‘carnal’ tangents. It’s a funny (I think it is) incident so I’m gonna share at the risk of throwing my reputation into the dustbin.

It was a Friday night. I was being the very studious student. I was sitting at one of those computer terminals which 3 of them were lined in a triangle. I had my coke bottle on my right, Europe books on my left, thesis at the back of my mind and Europe essay in front of me. Typing. Thinking. Trying to write something coherent.

My legs were stretched. My feet were like the arrows on a speedometer from 0 km/h accelerating to 180 km/h and back to zero within a microsecond; I was terribly fidgety and then the lights went off. Obviously, I got a shock and so did the guy on my right. His feet slid up my leg. With snow skis for feet, it was very unlikely that my feet did not slide against his leg as well. In the semi-darkness with only computer screens for lighting, it was the most AGGRESSIVE FOOTSIE EVER.

Then, I was tempted to say:

I’m flattered but not tonight. Really tired.

Which I really was. SO TIRED.

But both of us settled for something a lot safer: Sorry and a smile. But I don’t I said sorry though. My mouth is usually sealed when I’m tired. I probably smiled that’s all. THANK GOODNESS I DIDN’T WINK or raise my eyebrows, which are things I’m incredibly fond of using when I don’t use verbal communication.

Oh hilarious. Footsie and an aggressive one at that. What energy! I should leave this as it is.

But my second reaction – the more instinctive response – was terribly telling of what a true blue cleanliness freak I am. No matter what circumstances I’m in, you can be sure I’m always clean or strive to stay clean and smell nice.

Luckily I wore pants. Can’t imagine his dirty shoes dirtying my tights and skin. Yewww.

After he left, I checked my pants to see if there were dirt tracks. NONE. GOOD. I would have mumbled and grumbled my way home if there were. No actually – it’s stupid to grumble. I’d take action immediately. I would have gone to the toilet and damp some tissues to wipe the dirt off my pleather pants. And I wouldn’t be telling you about my warped humour, which is actually a cover for a mental disorder.

Do you think I require some psychiatric help with my propensity for perpetual cleanliness?

Come to think of it… no dirt tracks does not equate to NO SHOE DIRT. Darn it. Should have wiped it regardless off visible dirt or not.

I didn’t do that. Maybe I don’t need help after all.