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It's part of growing up
13/05/2008 13:14 - (SA)
David Moseley
I think I wrote sometime last year that buying my first piece of expensive furniture was a sure sign that I was finally growing up and becoming a real adult.
It turned out to be a false dawn because in the intervening months I've been anything but. Which is cool because who wants to grow up anyway. On Saturday, though, I finally did take that final step and it was at the expense of an old and trustworthy friend - the lunge.
I've written before about the merits of the lunge or, as my friend Neil rather eloquently labels it, "having a dip". It is a most marvellous manner in which to attach your face to a lady's when she's least expecting it.
Mid-conversation is always good, "so, yeah, then I took mymmrrghrgr? hmmmm" while equally effective is the lunge when she turns to face you. Just dive in there. Don't be afraid.
More often than not they'll be so startled at your magnificent timing and sheer gumption that they'll let you get away with it. Even if you've been dealt a "oh, but I can't do that, I have a boyfriend overseas", don't give up soldier because what she really means is "oh okay, two more drinks and I'll let you".
Going straight in for the kill is, however, risky business. This is especially so when you're in a crowded setting and your timing is a little off.
If the lighting is too good and you get a "lunge deflection" (i.e. a mouthful of cheek as your target swiftly turns to face the other way) you'll end up looking like a complete and utter knobby nuts (only amongst the other ladies. Wistful-looking men will secretly applaud your bravura in the face of such trying odds).
A thing of beauty
Normally my lunge is a thing of beauty, a masterpiece to behold in action. It comes complete with the trickery of Cristiano Ronaldo in full fleet-footed flight, the speed of Bryan Habana chasing down a kick-ahead and the knock-out final blow of an Ali punch to the bridge of the nose.
It's impossible to resist. I'm not going to be modest. I'm a pro. They call me Dr Lunge, or if you're ever out and about you might hear the popular retort to a common question, "hey, where's Dave?" Oh, he'll be back just now. He's just out to lunge.
Lately, though, like a footballer losing his fizz around the park, my trump card has been starting to wane. Two hits out of five lunges this year has been a shoddy return on a package that usually yields excellent long-term investments.
And Saturday in particular was when I realised that this useful vehicle of youthful assault had indeed run its course. At last, I could feel it; I actually wanted to talk to someone instead of just sticking my tongue in their face. It's not sad. It's just part of growing up.
Cheers lunge. We may never see your like again.
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