Sliding Doors

I've been thinking about Sliding Doors style scenarios a bit lately. A little bit Butterfly Effect with added cute new haircuts.

I'm trying to cut down on my consumption of Coca Cola, upon the advice of my dentist. Nice guy; sadistic as fuck and with a love for shoving metal hooks into gums and letting 'em rip. Still, now that I've gotten a root canal and fillings out of the way in the last 10 days, I feel I should give it a crack. Hard not to wonder, however, what effect this could have on my life in the short, medium or long term.

Seeing as I have the day off tomorrow, I figure there's two ways that this can go.

Someone calls in sick so I'm asked if I can cover and do the put-in for the night's show. No biggie, I could use the money. To be honest, if I have the day off I'll likely just sit about on my couch playing FIFA, and fall into old habits with a sneaky can of blackish brown, liquid goodness. Might be for the best to keep myself occupied. Nigella Lawson is giving a talk in the theatre, so while it will be busy, it's not going to be a riotous crowd. Still, I've been thinking about that drink now. If I wasn't working, I'd be there right this minute.

"I could really do with some Coke right now, lads."

Nigella strolls serenely through the foyer, past the box office. She's practically gliding. We make eye contact. Be cool, Deebs. Be cool. I'm not being cool. She aims a saucy wink my way, and whispers something to her PA or whoever. The day carries on as normal, until someone slips a note under the glass screen at my counter.

"Come to my dressing room after the show. N."

Lads, help. What do I do? Well, I go to her dressing room after the show, obviously. There's a few lines cut and waiting for me on the table. I think there's been an essential misunderstanding.

Three weeks later I find myself the subject of lurid Daily Mail headlines dubbing me Nigella's toyboy lover, The press attention is quite upsetting, but it's my day off so I try to forget about it by sitting back on the couch and playing FIFA with some coke.

Of course, the couch is so much bigger in Nigella's than my one in Edinburgh, and this coke is less liquid than it is white and powdery, but otherwise nothing much has changed in the last three weeks.

I should probably let Miriam know where I am.

"Nigella, I'll have to get that recipe from you."

OR

I could just have the day off tomorrow and drink some Coke. I suppose it all comes down to whether that's really so bad? If anything, it seems like it would be wrong of me NOT to have some now.

Fuck the dentist's caution.