There are 10299 miles between Johannesburg and San Diego. That’s the distance between me and a guy that I know quite well. He’s funny, single, never wants to settle down and loves cheese burgers. A little like me. I’ve never met him. It’s one of … Continue reading A one night stand in Sumatra
Someone asked me today how I am and without thinking or analysing or overthinking I replied that I’m good. That I’m busy at work which is fantastic. And busy with life and a bit of love and also with dogs and kids and friends and the sweetest ripest granadillas and fresh food and fruit and very good wine and I realised something.
Even with our political turmoil, I’m happy.
Even with a love life that is sometimes in turmoil, I’m happy.
Maybe it’s the weather; these glorious autumn days with glorious autumn colours.
Maybe it’s the possibility of love.
Of new kisses.
Maybe it’s the dope I smoked.
Or all the dancing I’ve done.
I don’t know.
It could be because I finally learned how to use semi-colons which make me feel so good, like I love using them and I think I need to use one immediately; would this be right?
I don’t know why, I just feel happy.
Perhaps I’ve become less difficult to please. More comfortable with me. And you.
And with life.
I just want to shout it out.
I’M KINDA HAPPY.
It’s a good feeling.
Remember the guy with the yellow t-shirt?
Well, I saw him over the weekend at a brunch. And out of the blue he gave me the shirt.
I was surprised and flattered and I giggled because it brought back all the stuff about how I met him.
And I love that we’ve become friends. That a chance meeting in a coffee shop turned into something lovely.
I learned quite a few things from that yellow t-shirt bumping into oh my gosh chance encounter.
Talk to strangers.
Talk to more strangers.
Put yourself out there.
Don’t be scared.
Also, if they wear terrible t-shirts, tell them.
Trash them. Trash them publicly, trash them privately, trash them any way you want, but trash them. And you’ll be able to tell from their reaction, what kind of person they are.
The guy who used to wear the yellow t-shirt had a sense of humour. He laughed all the way through his public trashing.
Which is the other thing I learned.
Laugh at yourself.
Laugh out loud.
Today I’ve been chuckling.
I woke up this morning and put the shirt on. It’s about a million sizes too big for me. It’s soft. Worn. Cosy.
It feels good.
And I’ve been feeling creative and arty and sexy in my oversized huge shirt. I decided to paint. The shirt is now red and blue and arsenic green and a mess and I love it.
I’m going to tell the guy who used to wear the yellow t-shirt that his shirt is no longer yellow.
That it’s a comfort shirt now.
I think. I know. I hope.
And then there is the other intuitive thing
when he calls
and you say yes
because you know
you just know
this is right
Hey Violet, I really need that story by 3.00, can you do it?
Are you mad, that’s like now, it’s gonna take days.
Please please, it’s important, I’d forgotten.
Oh, okay, sigh, I’ll get started.
Meet me for lunch Vi?
Nah, so damn busy and gotta…
Ugh, I gotta talk to someone, desperate.
Can we do tonight, no, really no, now, you gonna kill yourself if we don’t? Fine, fine, where, when, K, see you there, put the gun down, down, now..
Vee, we’re doing this fundraiser and…
NO, just no.
But you’re so good at it and think of all those starving children and..
Oh christ, can I say no, I don’t care about the starving children, oh fuck, fine, yes 2 pm?
Can you do the school lift?
Sure, even though I think you’re a fucking cunt for never doing the school lift yourself. Sure.
Oh fuck off.
Why do I find it so hard to say no to anything? Except anal. I’ve read all the self help books and been over this a billion times in therapy. I know it’s about self worth and loving yourself and blah blah boring and I’ve definitely learned to say no a lot more, but – mostly I think as women we find it hard to say no because – because we’re kind? Caring. Loving.
I don’t know.
Anyway. No. I can’t help you with that right now. Sorry. Gotta go. Heading to the dog park. A date. I have a dog date.
That was a YES.
That I list a few things you should never say to a guy.
You’re like my best friend.
Ever think of working out?
Maybe you should see a doctor.
I thought all men could change a tyre.
Really? Not even a light bulb?
Oh man up.
It’s just a game for god’s sake.
Oooh, ja, it is small.
We should just stay friends.
A virgin? You’re kidding me.
What the hell is wrong with you?
I’m sorry I fucked your best friend.
I know it was our wedding, I said I’m sorry.
God, you really are a cunt.
Keep your fucking hands off my dessert, I yelled at the guy sitting across the table from me, OFF OFF.
Calm down, Violet, I just want to taste it.
Then order your own Please. I hate sharing my dessert, I seriously hate it.
He put his spoon down. And gave me the death stare.
Apparently if you don’t like sharing you are a very mean person.
I must be a mean person. I don’t like sharing.
Unless it’s on my terms.
‘Hey, John this is really delicious, mmm, yum, wanna taste?’
And when John says yes then I put a little bit on my spoon and pass it over.
But I do not want John leaning over me, digging HIS spoon into my dessert and helping himself.
Although that is better than him leaning over, taking MY spoon and helping himself.
It’s a bit like at yoga. My space is my space. And don’t you dare invade it.
I will share happily if the conditions are right. Like, if it’s in bed and we’re having great sex and there are strawberries or chocolate or champagne or all three and I’m naked and on top and it’s sexy and it’s fabulous and oh god yes more please yes oh oh god, yes!!!
Then I will share anything with you.
If I don’t know you that well, and we’re new and we’re not even the slightest bit intimate and it’s a first date, like last night, and it’s not going very well at all, then:-
Have some boundaries.
You useless cunt
Keep your hands off my creme brûlée.
And don’t ever call me again.
Thanks. And Bon Appetite.