Missed Connection
I believe my love of Idris Elba is well documented on this site, is it not? You will not find a more dedicated fan of The Wire than me. You know how much I love him? I actually paid, cash money, to see Obsessed at the cinema. Yeah, that crappy movie he did with Beyonce? Yeah, I saw that. Paid money to see it. And it clearly wasn’t for any deep-rooted love of Beyonce, lemme tell ya. So, given how much I heart Idris, why are you all standing in the way of our love?
Yeah, that’s right, I said it! You just don’t want to see us happy! When I was down in London over the weekend, I spent my friday night doing a whole bunch of nothing. I wandered around Notting Hill, stuffed my face at my favourite restaurant, caught up with a friend. All of which, I could have done without (no offense to my friend). Cut to Saturday and randomly, some of my Twitter peeps tell me that Idris was DJing/hanging out/generally looking like a fine specimen of a man at one of my favourite bars, Marketplace, the night before.
You don’t understand. I used to hang out at Marketplace so much, it may as well be called MYplace. When I left for New York, I had my leaving party there. I’ve sat at and/or danced on every table. I’ve squeezed in the booths with way too many friends. I’ve backed it up on every inch of the dance floor. So how, HOW I ask you, was I not aware that Idris Elba, my love, was gonna be there on Friday night?! This is a travesty!
Had I been informed ahead of time, I would have dug out my favourite heels and my best dress (the perfect mix of ‘class’ and ‘skank’) and strutted my way down there. I would have swayed my hips hypnotically to the beat of whatever the hell he was playing; jazz, soul, hip hop, afro-latino jazz fusion, grime, alt-rock – whatever, bring it – my booty will shake to it. I would have laughed at his jokes, leaned into him slowly, brushed up against him – hell, I would have run my full gamut of flirting tricks. And maybe, just maybe, he would have fallen for them. If not, I’m pretty sure I could have at least gotten a hug, or a picture, or escorted away by security.
So next time people, don’t try to stand in the way of the non-existent, psychotic, blossoming love between Idris and I. A phone call, a ten-minute warning, something, anything, would be appreciated. Thanks!
Related posts:
Tags: idris elba, passionate imaginary relationships, The Wire
