...he's got a baby girl - good company...

His eyes went wide when he walked into the hallway, and then he touched my arm. "Hey, it's good seeing you here! How are you?"

I think my external self mumbled something relatively incomprehensible, before starting to chat with him about this or that. My insides meanwhile were screaming in bold, "Don't touch me, I love you" . This year can't end soon enough.

Other things you really don't need to know:

i) I am the Ice Queen, coo coo ca choo. No Italian will break these barriers. "But what if he really liked you, he just didn't know how to deal with it?" - Well, that's not my problem. I've babysat enough little boys in my life: jocks, Persians, Franco-Spanish music afficianados, actors... Italians are no different. I'm tired. He can find me when he's grown up, if he likes to.

ii) We were talking about murder, about many other things, very few of which I remember - but I think our final conclusion was that Santa Clause is a communist. Something to do with the elves working for love and resources, not money. And him wearing red.

iii) Note to self: If you are going to lecture your best friend about the perils of hooking up with an ex... practise what you preach. Restraint, girl - it's a word. Look it up. (Clearly, I am talking to myself as well).