Yesterday I had occasion to be trawling in Darlinghurst along the restaurant strip on Victoria Road when I stumbled upon Sonny Bill Williams. If you can call stumbling upon a mountain of a man who blocks out the sun actual stumbling as opposed to suspended in frozen animation on the footpath.
I flapped my hands for a moment, undecided whether or not to make a total arse of myself and ask for a photo or just smile like a dork and move on. As it happened, I smiled like a dork, he kept walking – bearing in mind our significant size difference, he might not even have known I was there – and I grabbed my phone to send a text to Miss15 who is his number 1 fan.
She takes to saying his name, with an idiotic grin on her face whilst clasping her hands to her chest like a woman from the 18th century saying, Oh! My!
I was expecting the usual response – squealing etc, hysterical phone call. I had clearly misjudged the entire thing.
I HATE YOU
I checked the message I had sent – perhaps autocorrect had screwed me over. After some up and down it was apparent that I had committed a terrible faux pas. The protocol, on coming face (mine) to thigh (Sonny Bills’) is to ask him to call Miss15 on my mobile phone to say hello. As in “Hello Miss15, this is Sonny Bill Williams calling to say hello on your mother’s phone”. Whoever would have known such a thing?
After many “I can’t believe you’s”, “it’s so unfair”, accompanied by a few more “I hate you’s” there was nothing for it other than to respond like a 15 year old girl. And what would a 15 year old girl say to end a stupid conversation? There’s only one thing….
Yes, you heard it here first. Hater’s gonna hate. Sometimes I am truly a black rapper from the Bronx.
That was all.
Love and light