Epilogues, Part II- The Return of the Dishy Deputy Ambassador

There are new readers amongst you- welcome! I am flattered and pleased. I am also aware that there have been a hellova lot of entries here, so the first entry regarding the DDA may not have been read by everyone. Seriously, it is my favourite story in here, so if you haven't read it yet, please look for the one entitled 'Shifting away from the melodrama...' and put the tale in some context. When I told my mother this story in July, she laughed until she cried, even though it included some language that she'd taught me a lady never uses.

For those of you who are too entrenched in Sunday morning ennui to look back at the other entry (no, really- get another coffee and just read the dang thing) let me give you a few words of back-story: I frequently pass Friday evenings at the British Embassy pub in Seoul. There is a range of social events available as a result, including dinners and dances, the most famous of which are the St Andrews' Ball each November and the Muckleshunter in the spring. Both involve Scottish country dancing, just with different levels of formality. This year's Muckleshunter was postponed because of the ferry disaster, and the re-scheduled event landed on the very day that school finished for the summer.

Also important for the story to make sense is some mention of the other main character in it: he who shall be henceforth known as the DDA. I hope that my previous descriptions of the man do him justice. Again, I stress that I have absolutely no interest in this extraordinary specimen- no more than seeing a stately home makes me want to buy one- nice thought, but who wants to pay to heat it? Admiration only, I promise you. Just unfortunately the sort of admiration that renders me practically incoherent. Again, look at the previous entry for details. (Small aside here- I hope that anyone who ever encounters this man will not let spill any beans about his appearances in these pages. I mortify myself quite enough when he is around- I do not require any help from others.)

The night of the Muckleshunter, I was due to meet my friends Lynne and Skip at the embassy pub, and was running just a few minutes late. I skidded into the main room in the basement just as the bagpipes were about to start, and spotted Lynne in the centre of the room. My first thought was that I was under-dressed; my second was to register that she was talking with the DDA's wife. Remember, I have been visiting the pub for some time. I know who is who, and of course knew who she was by sight. I had never been introduced to her before, however. I had no qualms about meeting her- there was no shame or embarrassment, again any more than there would be if I met the owner of the aforementioned stately home. So I headed over to join the two women. (I will interject here that the DDA's wife is also simply stunning- a statuesque brunette, dignified and graceful- they are physically a perfect match)

As I approached, Lynne spotted me, and attempted to begin the introductions at the very second that the lad on the bagpipes began to play. Those of you who have never been in a small room when bagpipes are wailing, you are missing something: a banshee-screech that fills the corners of your head and hammers at your skull from the inside. There was no way that we were going to hear each other speak, so I mouthed an apology and a promise to return when it was quieter, and headed to the bar to pick up a drink.

The bar was quieter- no bagpipes nearby. The bartender reached for the wine bottle at my request and was handing me a glass, when through a side door, in bounded the DDA. He was clearly coming from some business, and had about him the air of someone ready to grapple the evening to the floor. He stopped in his tracks at the bar as he noticed me.

DDA: Hello!

P: Hello! How are you?

Now, I was feeling FINE. I was calm and collected, and in total control of my situation. For once, I was not rambling or blushing or stammering. It was the end of the term, I had hair and nice lipstick, the wine was cool, and -for once- so was I.

The DDA cocked his head at me speculatively, and then suddenly was standing right beside me. He leaned forward-

DDA: May I kiss you?

Oh, gentle reader. It was all going so well. SO well. Up to that second, I had it all together. All my faculties were in order. Four words, and my equilibrium came crashing down.

P: (at volume) HELL, YES!!!!

The startled look on his face. The sudden realisation of what I had said. The air leaving the room, the mortification rising up like a groundswell, the absolute refusal of the earth to open up and swallow me down. There are simply not enough words.

Of course, the gracious man leaned in and delicately pecked me on each cheek, before saying 'It is lovely to see you again', picking up his drink and exiting into the main room. There I stood, stock still in horror as the bartender looked on, oblivious.

Long, silent seconds passed before I could gather enough of my wits together to go back into the other room. I went straight over to Lynne, who was now in the queue for the buffet.

P: LynneLynneLynneLynneLynne!

L: What happened?

To her credit, Lynne's expression did not alter. "I shouldn't worry about it', she said casually. 'I think that sort of thing happens to him all the time. Once I was shopping at the Commissary on base and I ran into him at the checkout. He leaned over and I thought he was going to give me a kiss so I kissed him back. Turns out he was just reaching for the divider to put between our groceries.'

Yes, that made me feel better.

Later that evening, as the dancers were setting and spinning and twirling around, and I was standing in my usual befuddled state at the centre of a group, chewing my lip in confusion and distress and wishing I had fewer left feet, the DDA caught my eye and grinned. As soon as the dance brought him within earshot, he came close and muttered, 'I've never seen anyone look so terrified in my life.'

Jerk.