a romantic interlude

Coffees with Serafina.
"I slept with a guy last night," quoth she. "We didn't make love though."
The noble Heelers paused coffee cup suspended.
My face was a study.
Serafina continued.
"We just slept together," she said. "What do you think of that?"
My handsome features took on a poignant pallor.
"I think," sez I, "you might as well just take me outside and shoot me."
Serafina grinned.
"James," quoth she sweetly, "you are my one true friend."
With a shock I realised she was speaking Girlygirl, the ancient language of women.
The words sound English but they don't mean what you'd think they'd mean.
The frustrating thing is that some girls can switch between the two languages without batting a bootie.
The trick is to know which one they're using at any given moment.
I recognised the phrase she'd used.
It was in a foreign language but I recognised it.
For I can translate Girlygirl tolerably well having come off the worst at the hands of girlygirls more or less continuously throughout the past twenty years.
You pick it up after a while.
My handsome preraphaelite features went a bit Gothic.
"I would be flattered except I happen to know what you mean by that," I told her stiffly. "You mean that I am going to be listening to stories about your bad boy biker boyfriends for the rest of my life."
Serafina allowed herself an adorably guilty smile before lapsing into a silence which lasted many minutes.