That Awkward Moment

That awkward moment. It gets even more frequent as we grow older.

 

Usually involving a middle-aged divorcee: we ask for her age. “How old do I look?” She ventures. Of course, you are not to offend her, as you want her to give you a lift to the airport- and also your new date’s approval.

 

So you subtract twenty odd years from the age she actually looks. And that’s when it all starts. Middle-aged ego boosted, you have to sit there listening to a half-hour pseudo-beauty lecture and confession about her “Secret“.

 

What “Secret”? Can’t she suss out you just lied to her because you feel like your sitting on pins when you’re around her? Or that you need that lift to catch your flight?

 

“I don’t smoke, don’t drink and am a vegan.”

or “Good skin runs in my family”

or even “I use cold water to shower”.

 

But if the lady in question is into Facial Yoga or swimming competitions, you’ll want to stick those pins up her eyes.

 

I have learnt through the years that the best thing to say when stuck in one of these situations is not to lie, or to add ten years to the age she actually looks, to save your head- and precious time.

 

Now the fat divorcee is driving you to the airport, calling you her newly adopted daughter, and making funny faces on the wheel. Facial Yoga. Oh, no! her eyes are strongly shut! And we’re speeding at 80 mph!

 

Not only she’s giving you a Facial Yoga lesson, but it appears like you have offered her a drink, because she’s all high, comparing herself to Nicole Kidman.

 

She’s using phrases like “when I was your age” and boasting about her achievements. You hold your date’s hand tightly as he’s avoiding eye-contact because he’s aware of your discomfort.

 

“Open your eyes auntie, for God’s sake!”

 

When you think the nightmare’s over, and you’re just in time to catch your flight back home, she starts searching into her smartphone to try and give you the link to the YouTube Facial Yoga videos. Just what I needed. And she can’t find them.

 

“Believe me, Facial Yoga will change your life!”

 

“Will Facial Yoga give me an upgrade to First Class?” You badly want to ask.

 

As your irritation is burning your cheeks, you can’t resist anymore:

 

“By the way, how did you get that limp?

 

And your date dumps you. Can’t care less, you’ve spotted a tanned hot surfer at the Check-in queue, he’s smiling at you- and he LOOKS TWENTY-FIVE!

More

Lipstick lasting seven Kisses

Her best friend calls her a compulsive polygamist.

 

She just can’t do without nine guys on the speed dial.

Like a magician shuffling his cards craftily, she fits in all the men into her semi-chaotic, semi-super organised schedule.

 

Blonde wig fot Danny,  change home routes after slapping Stewart goodbye, play the broke student with Phil, French accent for Thomas… and no cheat sheets inside the cupboard!

And she uses the same pet name for all nine. Ugly-duckling.

 

It’s not second nature to her. It is first nature.

When she breaks up with one she whines like a teenager and forgets about the remaining eight. Love- unexplained. That’s when she calls her mother.

He extreme feminity, and occasional outbursts  of masculine-like anger intrigue even herself…

But how she makes a living is not obvious.

 

She is a Spy.

 

Sandra’s Tunnel

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Dreams
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This is what I work for.

 

 

 

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Those were the real times.
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I might die- but my tattoo will last forever.
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Wondering if creatures believe in God…
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In quest for the machine of everlasting energy.
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No means No.
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The brief time of glory
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Ideas are delicate
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The reptilian way of crying.

 

 

 

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When something random captures me.
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Diamonds at snack break.
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Pleasure exploading once.
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Is there anyone out there?

 

 

 

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Chewing gum.
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You drilled into my heart.
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The Joy of Water.

 

 

 

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I hate meditation

Tuesday. Angry.

 

I haven’t exercised for a week and my do-do list is only half ticked.

 

I’m going to do what they do nowadays, take 12-13 minutes of meditation. By the way, I hate it. So I shall do an experiment. I want to see if meditation will give me creative, practical ideas to sort out my week… because it has already started with a limp.

 

half an hour later….

 

Oh, girl. The ten minutes before the meditation, after I made the strong resolution to sit down and do it, were the best.

 

I must point out, I needed my killer high heels to get myself to do it….

I felt sweetly excited and blissed like by the touch of an Alien. My body became bubble-light, elastic such as chewing gum, and fizzy like lemonade. I didn’t have enough space in my body to host the Oxygen traffic.

 

Dance, fight, knit or work, I can’t make up my mind what I want to do- I’ll do anything that pops in first. I have carried on my research for my project online.

 

Energy is overflowing and a nerve is asking me to Concentrate on a task.

I only meditated for nine minutes. I might be too excited. That makes a change from the gloom and anger I felt yesterday- Monday.

 

I can fix this week now- I’ve got the feeling I will even go beyond that- and embrace all that my spirit desires to get me doing!

 

But two hours later….

 

Had the most upsetting nightmare I’ve ever had: Cannibals got hold of London and enslaved us. It went on for about two hours. I questioned during the nightmare wether it was real, and was so deep into it only the phone ringing saved me.

 

I don’t mind, I want to meditate again tomorrow! This time, with my high heels and make-up on!

 

New Monday

Monday, they call it

But mine will not be boring

The perfect excuse to make a new start

Speak out from my Guts, start the fire spark

Flat’s a mess, hair’s frizzy and can’t find my keys

I love the War zone where I shall plant my tree.

 

Weekend chaos mimics the Big Bang

Energy flowing -it’s body-soul mis match

Because this week my World will change

I blow a kiss to the mirror

Don’t I love this place!

 

I’ll fix it as it breaks

Because there is such thing as Fate

And it’s smiling at my Face!

 

 

I whistle

Koala
i can whistle too

I whistle because this minute’s perfect. I don’t know about the next minute to come, or the next after that, but if I whistle, I can hold on to this perfect minute and extend its life-spam.

Something seems to be whistling back at me. No, not something, more than one thing. The cars beeping angrily -ha haha why are these drivers angry?!- The birds telling each other stories about us humans, the Church Bells announcing yet another perfect wedding, and – of course- the smartphone getting messages.

I want to take my music somewhere with me, so I leave my pack of cigarettes behind, get my keys, and not even thinking about where I am off to, I start hoping happily along the corridor, to the stairs. Now this music is The Ticket.

I’m getting better at it. Passers by smile at me- not all of them- and a toddler  has even grabbed my leg.

 

But, what I really want, is somebody to start whistling back at me. That’s the direction I will move towards!

 

If nobody whistles back to me by 5:00 PM, I shall come back to Reality and purchase a pack of cigarettes.