‘Twas the night before Cheryl and all through the house, Jamie was hyper like a big girl’s blouse.
Okay, let’s not skirt around the issue, tomorrow is D-Day. It’s as significant as the day when yer man walked on the moon. It’s as important as when that adventurer fellow stumbled upon an unexplored America. Okay, in this case, significance might be ever so slightly subjective, but make no bones about it, tomorrow will be MAJOR.
It is of course, the day when Cheryl Cole finally gets to meet Jamie Tuohy. She has been waiting for this ever since she tweeted him ‘Happy Birthday Babe’ and sent him a flirty winky face in response to a generic, but hilarious chat-up line. By all accounts, Cheryl is buzzing. Word has it that Jamie is quite excited as well.
I’m not even employing hyperbole when I say that I am slowly losing the ability to speak and process my thoughts in a coherent manner. I am randomly referring to myself in the third person – a typically self-indulgent, but equally strange thing to do. My mind has become warped by a sense of Cheryl foreboding. What will I say? What will she say? Will it be a summer or winter wedding? Or a spring affair?
Anyone who knows me can testify to my Cheryl obsession. Even for anyone who sporadically reads this blog, my predilection for all things Chezza is as perceptible as her beauty.
A word of warning: if you thought my blog post on Nigella Lawson was a lengthy expression of a deep affiliation, just wait until you read the post that I’ll be putting up about my meeting with Cheryl Cole. The Da Vinci Code will look like a pamphlet in comparison.
For now, I must go and try and catch some of that breath I’ve lost in anticipation of tomorrow night!