I was trapped in the belly of the beast, better known as my local mini-Tesco store, navigating the claustrophobic aisles like a lab rat trapped in a maze trying not to cause a traffic jam. 
As I'm browsing the overpriced sandwich selection, feeling like I need to take out a second mortgage just to afford a BLT, I suddenly felt the weight of someone's presence, their stare melting into the side of my head.
I turned to find the source of this unexpected attention, and it was a HTB snow-capped iceberg,
staring at me either because I'm a curry biohazard that escaped from the lab or a chad Phoenix rising from the ashes of inceldom leaving behind the neckbeards and their waifu pillows.
Initially, I tried to ignore this, but the intensity of her gaze was making me feel like I was under a microscope. I turned to face her, wondering if I've unwittingly become a part of a TikTok experiment.
I realised her eyes were locked onto my wrist, specifically the watch that's adorning it. My watch looks similar to the Navitimer:
She looked entranced, as if under some sort of hypnosis, as if she's just unearthed a long-lost treasure from the depths of Atlantis. When the talcum-powdered Temptress realised she was being awkward, she snaped out of it, stammered out an awkward apology, and scurried away into the bowels of the supermarket.
So close, yet so far.
It's the universe's way of throwing me a bone before yanking it away and beating me with it, reminding me that I'm not allowed to ascend.
InB4 "no watch for your face" - even though my mug may not be as captivating as a Rolex or Omega, my personality, i.e., my impeccable taste in timepieces was enough to make this toilet-bowl faced bitch freeze in time.
As I'm browsing the overpriced sandwich selection, feeling like I need to take out a second mortgage just to afford a BLT, I suddenly felt the weight of someone's presence, their stare melting into the side of my head. I turned to find the source of this unexpected attention, and it was a HTB snow-capped iceberg,
staring at me either because I'm a curry biohazard that escaped from the lab or a chad Phoenix rising from the ashes of inceldom leaving behind the neckbeards and their waifu pillows. Initially, I tried to ignore this, but the intensity of her gaze was making me feel like I was under a microscope. I turned to face her, wondering if I've unwittingly become a part of a TikTok experiment.
I realised her eyes were locked onto my wrist, specifically the watch that's adorning it. My watch looks similar to the Navitimer:
She looked entranced, as if under some sort of hypnosis, as if she's just unearthed a long-lost treasure from the depths of Atlantis. When the talcum-powdered Temptress realised she was being awkward, she snaped out of it, stammered out an awkward apology, and scurried away into the bowels of the supermarket.
So close, yet so far.
It's the universe's way of throwing me a bone before yanking it away and beating me with it, reminding me that I'm not allowed to ascend.
InB4 "no watch for your face" - even though my mug may not be as captivating as a Rolex or Omega, my personality, i.e., my impeccable taste in timepieces was enough to make this toilet-bowl faced bitch freeze in time.
