The Story of My Love

I remember it well. It was the long, cold winter of 1921. I was a young man then, full of verve and vigour. I had a top hat. I was working for my Father Jed Bate as a trainee accountant and I was earning a whopping £500 a year (Which would be about 1.5 Billion in today’s money). I was on top of the world and I thought my life was complete. That was until she waltzed into it. The woman that would set my meagre heart on fire (Not literally) and turn my world upset down (Metaphorically)
I met her at a social function. It was Terrance Spearmint's retirement. His decision to step down shocked the business world into wild spasms of astonishment. He was a sprightly 41 and he still had a lot of accounting left in him. A lot of people felt that he had lost his skills and was slowing down but I knew different. A man like Terrance was incapable of slowing down. If you cut him he would bleed business knowledge. Personally, I respected his choice. He had made his money and now he wanted to gorge on the fruits of his labour. I hoped I might have a similar future. To be honest, accounting is fucking boring.
So there I was mingling with the social elite, exchanging witty banter with various strangers. I was having a relatively good time. It wasn't as fun as Timothy Shallows' birthday. That had a naked chorus line and amusingly shaped fruit. Still, it was better than being stuck in the house on my lonesome. I was chatting to Paul Settle of Settle and Settler’s Paperwork’s when I saw her by the piano.
She was the epitome of beauty. I'd never seen anything like her. I was so taken aback that I almost dropped my glass of port down my new shirt which has only happened once before and that was at Daniel Lowenparp's wedding. (The best man made an amusing speech which contained the unforgettable sentence "...Then he rimmed me in front of the entire congregation and we had a bit of cake.".) I couldn't stop looking at her. Even the appearance of the stripper could not steer me away from her. I knew I had to go over but my legs would not move. I was frozen on the spot. A mixture of fear, excitement and mild indigestion seized me. I shook it off and walked over to her. I was determined that this glorious angel would be my love receptacle.
She smiled at me. My words had become lodged in my throat. I almost gagged on 'Hello'. Eventually, it surfaced but, after such a terrible introduction, I feared that I wouldn't be able to conduct myself in a gentlemanly manner. She spoke in a voice that was soft and delicate. I spoke too fast, too loud and my sentences kept cutting off. My words seemed to dribble from my mouth and collect on the plush, expensive carpet. I was a wreck. She was kind enough to be an audience to my confusing and disturbing behaviour. She smiled sweetly as I rambled on about 'different types of wasps'. I couldn't seem to hold it together and I didn’t have a clue what I was talking about. She stayed with me for a good ten minutes before she said that it was "nice to meet me" and that she "really had to be standing elsewhere". I felt something die inside me as she walked away. I bowed my head and walked back to the bar. In the corner of my eye I saw Gregory Spank from Wordsworth and Wordsworth dancing with her. I coughed up a word and it landed in my freshly poured glass of whiskey.
I picked it out with my fingers and held it up to the light.
"Bollocks"