The Kiwi

I love how inventive my code names are, such works of literary genius! Although to be fair to myself, the point of them is not to be witty or funny, but practical and logical. I want to be able to conjure up at least some memories with these names, not wonder who on earth I mean and what I was thinking when I came up with a code name that makes no sense!

But, as usual, I digress….

The Kiwi and I met at a party I went to with a bunch of friends. Mutual friends of The Black Belt and I, so there is another rule down the crapper, though I don’t believe he was there. Actually, I think he was. Who’s to say? One rule definitely, second rule maybe, but I met the Kiwi that night, so it was only ever two out of three.

I remember the kiwi being half maori, so tall, dark and handsome, with ratehr aesthetically pleasing tattoos. I remember we met at a party at his house where his flatmate was a friend of a friend. I remember him not having a real bed, just a mattress on the floor, and that his doona cover was varying shades of blue…but that’s it. No recollection of the actual act beyond that it occurred. So Kiwi, where ever you are these days, you can take comfort in the fact that you weren’t so bad to be memorable, but also a little bit of a note from not being good enough to be worthwhile committing to memory either.

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