The Crushed Crush.

It's still The BF's cooking week. But shortly prior to receiving the "Dinner's ready, pal" bbm, I received word that my oldest friend, Smelly, is safely deposited in my country. (I call her Smelly not because she stinks but because that's what I call her. In real life.) In order to experience the joy that is the team pig squeal of sheer excitement at having a chance to razzle with the finest of the fine, I poured a wee glass of wine.

So when I arrived for dinner, the tongue was lubricated enough to share, with my people, a small little tiny crush I had (note the past tense) on this number I'd met the other night.

The Pant: Okay, guys. So I'm thinking he's the perfect-build-up-the-ego, get-the-mind-ready-for-the-dating-game kind of raw passion and no after conversation kind of guy.

The BF: Okay. So is he the kind of guy you choose not to cuddle?

TP: Exactly.

TBF: But is he hot?

TP: Well, not in a conventional want-to-have-him-in-your-wedding-photos kind of way. He's a bad boy. Covered head to toe in tattoos and parties like a rock star. In fact, he is a rock star. That kind of raw sex appeal.

TBF: Ooooooo! When do we get to meet him?

TP: Never. And that's just the thing. He's not the kind of guy you would ever admit to being with. He's like a passionate dirty secret kind of on-the-low-down love affair.

And no sooner had Carlos gobbled down his dinner and whipped out the iPad. Parusing facebook he called (see guys are facebook snoop doggy doggers too),

Carlos: What's his name?

The Pant: Wankstick Deluxo.

Carlos: (typing away) Is that with a 'k' or a 'ck'?

TP: A 'ck'. (Now addressing The BF). You know that guy, pal? The one whose face you just want to smooch right off but hope no one ever finds out about?

Carlos: No, she doesn't. (The BF was nodding in fervent agreement while biting down on her bottom lip.) My wife has only been with one man, ever. Okay?

TBF: Absolutely. One man. Only.

Carlos: Okay, pal. He says his favourite games are: 'Pass the herpes' and 'Jacuzzi - whose finger is that?"

TP: Hmmmm... Okay, he's not conventional. But, um, maybe worth a shot?

Carlos: Says the person who has influenced him the most is Ron Jeremy.

The Pant and BF (in unison): Who's that?

Carlos: Only the world's greatest porn star.

TP: Huh? Never heard of him.

Carlos: He's the biggest weed ever but he's managed to get thousands of hot chicks to scrum him on camera.

TBF: So you think porn stars are hot?

Carlos: This isn't about me! Pant wants to tuck into some guy with herpes.

TP: He doesn't have herpes!

Carlos: Have you tucked in already?

TP: No!

The BF: Then how do you know? Are you sure?

TP: Yes, I am sure. And he doesn't have herpes because he's hot.

TBF: He sounds dirty, pal. (To Carlos) Let me see a photo... Repeat after me, Panty Liner, "I will not touch this wankstick with a ten foot bargepole".

TP: Why?

Carlos: Because first it was a fat guy and now this freak.

TP: You don't get to judge, Carlos! You think porn stars are hot.

TBF: This isn't about Carlos, although I'll deal with that remark later. (I hate it when the smug marrieds gang up on me.) Pant, no crush on VD there. No way, no how. Get over it. Go hang at The Beverley Hills and find a man rich enough so that both of us can give up work.

And, with the thought of being a lady of leisure - lunching with The BF everyday - my crush was crushed. In an instant.