Blogging Boston - 4

A-one-two-cha-cha-cha,
A-one-two-cha-cha-cha,
A-one-two-cha-cha-cha!
A-one-two-cha-cha-cha

Kulkarni, dear readers, has been slightly unlucky in the Lady Luck department where the Ladies are concerned. Even a casual reader in the blogosphere, happening to glance in while strolling the bylanes of this world, would discern remarkably quickly that Kulkarni is single.
And this ill fortune follows Kulkarni where ever Kulkarni goes.
Rather like Mary's lamb, only a lot more irritating.
He climbs onto a bus, all ready for a long journey sitting right next to a beautiful long haired, doe-eyed damsel, and gets to sit next to a seventy year old grandpa who snores through the journey. Halfway through said journey, grandpa proceeds to rest his bald pate on young Kulkarni's shoulder.
Kulkarni comforts himself with the thought that at journey's end will wait beautiful granddaughter, who shall thank Kulkarni, through her grateful tears, and Kulkarni shall carelessly acknowledge said thanks.
Granny greets grandpa at journey's end, and grunts in Kulkarni's direction, when the unbelievably heavy trunk is finally hoisted onto the roof of the unbelievably old Fiat.
Your author, though, dear friends, is made of stern stuff. In spite of the many trials, tribulations, and terrors that the fates have thrown at him over the many years, he has not wavered in his beliefs. One day, he has told himself, there will come the dainty, doe-eyed damsel who will deliver Kulkarni from the fetters of bachelorhood. Purely by chance shall he meet this wondrous angel, and a romance will bloom.
It might not happen today, but it will on the morrow, he has told himself - as his fond dreams have been wrecked on the rocky shores of many a bus-stop, railway station, new apartment, new classrooms and what-have-you's.
And as of today, dear readers, Venus finally unbent and showered her thus-far ignored son with candy floss lo-oo-ve.

Eight in the morning. Office scheduled to begin at, what else, eight.
Young Sir Lancelot, having hurriedly gotten himself ready, is rushing out of the door.
The door closed, he fumbles with the key in his pocket, impatiently cursing himself for his tardiness.
The door next to this anxious hurried scene swings open.
Breathless pause.
Roll of drums.
Expectant hush.
And out steps Miss Bombshell.
Lovely long blond hair that falls in curvy heaps over petite pretty shoulders. Pretty blue eyes that light up an angelic face. Cherry red lips that curve into a beatific smile.
And oh yes, a figure that would have had Coke springing for copyright infringement.
Kulkarni stares.
Angel stares back. Angel pauses and angel smiles. Up in the heavens, Beethoven gets to work on the piano.
Kulkarni clears throat. Fits jaw back in place. From deep within, a thoroughly startled neuron system galvanises itself and asks brain what to do. Brain, having turned to jelly at first reported sighting of angel, is clueless.
Angel says, brightly, "Hello! Good morning!"
Kulkarni says, allegedly," Ghdertymderweffds"
Clearing his throat again, and putting body and soul into the effort, Kulkarni gives it another shot.
"Good Morning!"
(There. Loud and clear. Focus on what she is saying. Do not stare. Well, ok, stare a little. Huh?)
"Huh?"
"I said, I'm your neighbour. My name's Kylie."
Spotting proferred hand in the nick of time, Kulkarni adjusts his motor and shakes it. Fortunately, his palms haven't had the time to get sweaty.
Angel smiles again.
"You must be new here - aren't you?"
"Yes, barely a week old."
Angel starts to move away, Beethoven uncle gives it up as a bad job and slows down on the pedal.
"Well, let me know if you need any help", she says, pirouetting her dainty way to the lift.
Beethoven gets right down it, belting out one hit after another.
And after she has gone, Kulkarni pirouettes to the lift himself, grinning from ear to ear.
If Kulkarni needs help, Kulkarni is to contact the angel.
Tomorrow, Kulkarni's dishwasher is going to die a mysterious, unlamented death.
Like I was saying:

A-one-two-cha-cha-cha,
A-one-two-cha-cha-cha,
A-one-two-cha-cha-cha!
A-one-two-cha-cha-cha