2 July 2016
i have only twice in my life ever fallen head over heels in platonic love with a woman.
(burvil, of course, precedes consciousness.)
with k(hopeless romantic, enchanted by the power of hairdressing).lo, at that church mixer where we were seated next to one another and discovered a shared love of the film the painted veil and a belief that to die of cholera is an intensely romantic way to end.
few people find romanticism in violent/fatal diarrhea. k.lo did. i thought, omg, i need this woman in my life.
with olive, it was different. she'd been friends with the woman i walk to church and, since i'd been walking her to church and sitting with her during the service, olive came over each week to tell her hello. she would acknowledge me but we didn't speak. until a quiet day at a convent.
when olive entered the room, i felt tugged towards her like a magnet. no lie, that evening, i called debo and breathed into the phone, mummy, i've met someone. as though i'd returned from a really excellent date. when, in reality, i'd spent the day at a convent chatting with the bird-like hard-of-hearing 87-year-old woman next to me and being shushed by the vicar. because the day was meant to be quiet, after all.