A Smoked Oyster Spell

Well, it has been incredibly difficult to write this blog recently because the boss’s daughter is here on work experience, at a desk near mine, and keeps spying on what I’m doing, and no doubt reporting back to darling Papa on how hard I work, how frequently I take cake-breaks etc. So I’m having to be a total saint, and I can only quickly look at other people’s blogs whenever she goes to the loo. But I’m working late tonight – to make a point about how totally indispensable I am - and she isn’t around.
Anyhoo: the special romantic spell. On Friday night I had everything ready: a range of aphrodisiacs – watermelon, tinned oysters (there isn’t an r in the month) and chocolate. I’d also found some dark blue candles and some red chalk. I waited until 11p.m., and then drew a circle on the floor of my sitting room, under the window, lit the candles, and sat there in my best underwear, trying to think romantic, erotic thoughts about the mystery new man I wanted in my life. The moon was clearly visible through my window, and the whole thing would have been quite shiveringly spooky, if the kitten hadn’t kept jumping on me and going on about how she wanted a snack. (But then, of course, a cat is an aoppropriately witchy thing to have around, if you happen to be doing a spell.)
Just before midnight I opened the oysters (getting cottonseed oil all over my new bra). They were disgusting. And didn’t go particularly well with the watermelon or the chocolate. They also made the kitten more bothersome and intrusive. It was almost impossible to actually think deeply about the spell etc. But I did my best, and tried to conjure up an attractive male face and so on, but, annoyingly, I kept seeing Glenn. Isn’t that weird? Particularly as I’m so relieved he isn’t pestering me any more.
I went to bed feeling disappointed and rather queasy, and woke suddenly in the night to find the kitten eating a smoked oyster (complete with oil) in my hair.