I’m sitting here, well, reclining actually, in my chaise longue. I don’t need to do anything else. I just sit here and be.
I put the oo in swoon. Well, you do when in my presence, truth be told. I pretend not to notice. Please try to control yourself.
I know, I know.
Such magnificence in a perfect package. Is it any wonder I tend to say not a lot…?
Words don’t come easy to me anyway.
I use actions. And aloofness.
More so aloofness nowadays. Actions tend to be me sitting or reclining here in a chaise longue. I’ve still got it.
Back in the day, though, there would have been enchanting moonlight and milk and plain chocolates and soft music, rooms bedecked with candlelight, de-thorned roses and scented rose petals, fresh, chilled strawberries and the sparkliest of champagnes (decanted, of course), and a roaring open fire in a stone fireplace. And an indoor picnic on a gingham floor mat. Oh yes. With vol-au-vents. And speaking French.
Er, je pense que oui, anyway… if I said it right.
The accent is all it takes. And the champagne. Please. You’re swooning again.
And the right kind of lighting helps as well sometimes.
Now, please. Be gone.
I must recline.
I think we’ve just been dismissed by my Inner Romantic. Although reading that, I think he needs a new job title. And they say romance is dead…!
Yet another post linking to my theme for February. One would have done, it must be said.