Sunday, October 29, 2006

The Mulletted Mackum

He was skinny. Very skinny.

He was scruffy. Yes, I do like scruffy men, but he took it to a whole new level. The office where we worked had a ‘business casual’ dress code. Which for the boys means normal office clothes without the tie; not really ‘casual’ in my book. But Mullet managed to circumvent this rule completely. He wore shirts, but not business shirts. They were usually short-sleeved, and frankly, the sort of thing I could get away with wearing. He had some horrible old grey trousers, and to cap it all off, sandals.

Those big, chunky doc-marten style sandals, as opposed to the sort your geography teacher used to wear, and it was summer. But still – sandals.

As for the hair. It’s really hard to describe – there was just no rhyme or reason to it. It was mousey and tatty, and there didn’t seem to be any sort of parting – I couldn’t see where it started - but it was definitely mullet-shaped. I had myself half-convinced that it was a wig, or that he'd had some terrible brain-surgery scars that needed covering up.

I really fancied him.

He was clever and funny and sarky and read books. And he was dead flirtatious with the numerous pretty girls in the office. He intrigued me.

(Mackums, in case you don’t know, are people who come from Sunderland. Their accent is just like the Geordies (who come from Newcastle, just up the road). But whereas Newcastle is a vibrant cosmopolitan trendy city these days, Sunderland is still rough as fuck.)

And he fancied me too. I knew this because one of the girls who sat next to him told me (I may have been in the Moose League compared to some of the lasses in the office, but I did at least have the cachet of being the new girl.)

He called me ‘Medusa’ once, which I rather liked. We had some good banter – we could both give as good as we got. I’d been there 5-6 weeks and things were going well.

Then I got sacked (sort of).

But before I left I gave him my phone number. And my email address just in case. Then I had to dash before I got marched out of the building.

I was expecting a cheeky text fairly soon – just asking how I was getting on…


I never heard from him again.


  • his loss.

    maybe he meant to get in touch with you and lost your details?...

    By Blogger Chaucer's Bitch, at 9:52 AM  

  • The Mackum pulling technique is similar to the instructions for operation of a computer mouse.

    Point. click. Drag.

    By Blogger The Murphmeister, at 9:54 AM  

  • Kind of an anti-climax thing there at the end.

    By Blogger Wyndham, at 10:07 AM  

  • his foul personal grooming would ultimately have revolted you. knocking a scuzzbag is not nearly as bad as the memories of same, which follow you forever.

    *ahem* not that I would know.

    By Blogger First Nations, at 3:12 PM  

  • I know this blog is a spinster's blog but bloody hell you've had some rotten luck.

    By Blogger realdoc, at 4:13 PM  

  • i do believe FN is speaking with the voice of experience here. heed her wisdom!

    By Blogger Chaucer's Bitch, at 6:07 PM  

  • I would like to believe that he lost the post-it, and even today he curses his bad luck.

    In reality, I have read 'He's Just Not That Into You'* .

    This one has always troubled me. I mean, I know that I'm no Cindy Crawford, but I was still waaaay out of his league.

    *Look, a friend had it, OK? I just flicked through...

    By Blogger Spinsterella, at 6:30 PM  

  • Now look, Spin - I'm sorry you are sad but you make him sound like Bob Carolgees (Spit the Dog/Tiswas). Honestly, you can do ALOT better than DM chunky sandals - I know you can!!

    By Blogger rockmother, at 11:47 PM  

  • Maybe he felt you were way out of his league and was too shy to approach [she says, desperately hoping this doesn't sound anything like the aforementioned 'you frighten them off' comment, but thinking she may just have dug herself into a large third-person hole].

    By Blogger Hannah, at 11:53 PM  

  • possibly, he chewed his nails out trying to muster up courage, then remembered you were way out of his league..and ate the post it.

    i hate it when that happens too.

    By Blogger therapy, at 8:26 AM  

  • Post-its are full of yellowy gluey goodness, I'd eat one. Next time write on his hand. In permanent marker.

    By Blogger Billy, at 8:46 AM  

  • I'm thinking that Spin should maybe carry around a permanent marker for just that purpose, Billy - as there are far too many of these anti-climactic 'one that got away' stories. Honestly, these clueless gentlemen don't know what they're missing.

    Although...mullet and horrible old grey trousers...makes me think of the poor stupid one* in the League of Gentlemen's Job Seekers Club, and that's not a good image.

    * 'Mickey', apparently.

    By Blogger patroclus, at 11:35 AM  

  • Ewwww...leave it out.
    I think you had a lucky escape. Either that or he's biding his time, waiting for his full beard and 'tache to grow in, to complete the hair horror triplicate scenario.

    By Blogger Alias Lucy Diamond, at 12:19 PM  

  • Actually - he smelt good.

    (Scruffy and clean can co-exist, I'm living proof kids.)

    I thing I forgot to mention he was stubbley/beardey msot of the time. But you managed to figure that all out yourselves, didn't you.

    By Blogger Spinsterella, at 7:27 PM  

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