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    Virtually Ideal Episode 5: Shouldn't Have Said It Couldn't Get Any Worse
    Virtually Ideal Episode 5: Shouldn't Have Said It Couldn't Get Any Worse
    Virtually Ideal Episode 5: Shouldn't Have Said It Couldn't Get Any Worse
    Ebook72 pages59 minutes

    Virtually Ideal Episode 5: Shouldn't Have Said It Couldn't Get Any Worse

    By Buffy Greentree

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Laurie's got five weeks left to convince her sister she's broken up with famous Australian author Timothy Farren, which should be easier now she's actually met him, but instead has become more complicated. She also needs a date to take to the wedding, and internet dating is still letting her down - in so many ways. Oh, and she really needs her phone to start working, both so the cute guy of her daydreams she's accidentally run into three times now can use the number he won off her, and also so she can call the police if the creepy IT guy from work, whose dating profile her friends stalked, tries to abduct her. But hey, she'll be signing her new contract as an assistant literary agent and able to quit working at the call centre, so life isn't all bad.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBuffy Greentree
    Release dateAug 13, 2017
    ISBN9781370087167
    Virtually Ideal Episode 5: Shouldn't Have Said It Couldn't Get Any Worse
    Author

    Buffy Greentree

    Buffy Greentree is an Australian writer: born in Melbourne, sojourned in Japan and the UK, and currently living in sunny Brisbane. After almost a decade in academia - getting degrees in Classics and Archaeology, Divinity (specializing in Old Testament Studies) and a little bit of Business Management - she realized it was a whole lot more fun to make up the facts. So she took up writing. Finally her varied career across different fields seemed to be justified. Also, the years of trying to drill good essay writing technique into students' heads had not been for nothing. Her writing, as with her university degrees and employment history, shows her love of variety. She's currently editing drafts for a chic-lit serial, a historic drama, a YA and a non-fiction. There might also be a theology PhD coming into the mix soon. She hopes she doesn't accidentally get it mixed up with the romance.

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      Book preview

      Virtually Ideal Episode 5 - Buffy Greentree

      VIRTUALLY IDEAL

      by Buffy Greentree

      ***

      Smashwords Edition, License Notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      Episode 5: Shouldn't have said it couldn't get any worse

      Monday

      Fingers wrapped around the steaming long black like insect legs, I glance repeatedly over my hunched shoulders as if I’ve got a nervous tic. The rest of the cafe appears self-absorbed, and it turns out to be only a small child hiding under the table. But appearances are deceptive; Creepy IT Guy (or CIG as I’m now going to call him) could be lurking anywhere, just waiting to proclaim to the world I’m stalking him online.

      I admit it was a dangerous move leaving the house so early to meet up with Amelia. However, if CIG is going to abduct me, I prefer there to be witnesses. Now I have another twenty minutes (assuming she’s only five minutes late) to kill with this subpar coffee. More than enough time to swirl my soul into a pit of despair, as it turns out.

      It wouldn’t be so bad if life hadn’t made such extravagant promises first. It’s like, every pro she dangles before me then mutates into a con and whacks me across the face. Prime example: Tom, aka CuteTramGuy. Despite all previous experience of how the universe likes to treat me, I mysteriously bump into the amazing man I’ve been daydreaming about, for the third time and he actually asks for my number, and calls me gorgeous. Repeatedly. How is that not a sign from God?

      And what has this led to? Why, first losing my expensive, still on a plan phone and having no contact with the outside world because stupid Telstra appears to think technology needs weekends too. But more importantly: second, losing the chance to ever date this amazing guy, and the certain knowledge he’s currently blackballing me across the worldwide GuyFi because I give out fake numbers.

      Despite having a deep sense of the futility of life, I reflectively check my newly acquired phone for any sign of connectivity. It smilingly reassures me it’s 10.56am, but refuses to have any service. I stare into its shimmering, dark soul and hear its electronic laughter.

      Fine. I wasn’t going to do this, but now you’ve forced me to, little phone.

      I hold down the power button, and with extravagant glee drag my finger across the screen to confirm its demise. Pulsing with a sense of dominance I wait ten seconds and then breathe life back into the fragile body. My feelings of impotency assuaged for the moment, I lay my victim down and attempt to heat my lukewarm coffee through the power of my mind.

      Irritation is the first emotion to hit me as the phone has a series of epileptic seizures. I’ve doomed myself forever to be laughed at by IT departments around the world; just as Tiff said, turning it off and then on again has worked.

      Once the edge of the annoyance has dulled, I suddenly realise what this means: Tom I-Wish-I-Could-Remember-Your-Last-Name could be waiting right now, just inside my phone!

      Grasping my little lifeline in an overly dramatic move that leads to me knocking over the last of the coffee (really no waste there, and the phone stayed dry), I press my thumb against the sensor as if I’m being let into MI5. Now, voicemail or text first? Who would miss the opportunity of listening to his beautifully articulated consonants? Voicemail it is.

      First is from Yanie asking how I feel about organza for the wedding. Seriously, how does anyone feel about organza? Delete, I’ll get back to her later. Next is from Mum reminding me of our lunch date on Wednesday. She also has very articulated consonants, but with a very different effect. I delete and move on. The final one, the one I’ve been waiting for is … from George. I retract that statement.

      Others may remember him as HarvardMale, Friday night’s failed date, or scientific evidence that having a high IQ in no way equates to being a functional human being. He’s telling me what a wonderful time he had, and asking why I don’t answer my phone. I delete his message and consign him to hell. There’s a (small) pang of guilt as I realise it’s not his fault he isn’t a gorgeous, funny, charming male with wavy brown hair and dark amber eyes. But he could’ve at least tried.

      It’s all okay, I still have the text messages. Faster this time, I flick through: Mum, Mum, Yanie, Tiff, Amelia, Dad (well, that’s unusual), Telstra welcoming me to their service (no comment), and that’s it. I go through the list again, just to make sure. Nope, no unknown number.

      Perhaps he got drunk and lost his phone too. Or maybe a rabid dog attacked him and devoured my KFC scented scrap of paper? Or … okay, my next excuse is that he got hit by a car and is in a wheelchair, and in a year I’ll find out the truth — which will be too late because I’ll already be imprisoned by CIG.

      Deprived of all reason to live, I lay my head down on the table and instantly regret doing so at a public cafe.

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