The Injustice!

Treat yourself to this on another page, while you are reading. :)


Yesterday evening I was in a restaurant having a bite to eat with a girlfriend when I noticed someone watching me in between vaguely attending to the conversation that was going on at his own table.  He was roughly my age, very delicious looking (I mean, oh, sigh, from my point of view, absolutely drop-dead-let’s-not-bother-with-any-conversation gorgeous), and he kept catching my eye - ooh, get me! So, I met his gaze – briefly, tantalisingly briefly. As my friend and I were leaving, I could sense him looking at me again, so I thought ‘Sod it!’ and turned round and smiled. He smiled back, mouth, eyes and - if I'm not very much mistaken - brain. Swoon!

Bummer! Why can’t he be on the website? Why do I get bloody mushrooms, fat men who won't cook a measly dinner, farty old men who get lettuce stuck in their throat, silly tele-wankers, pathetic men whose masculinity is threatened by long words, ignorant twerps etc. etc. It’s sooooo not fair!

How’s about this for a fairy tale? Next Friday I shall go to the same place again on my own. He, totally besotted, will also go back there to see if it’s one of my regular haunts. We'll glance at one other for ten minutes, and then he’ll come over and ask me if I’d like to join him, or whether he can join me. He will, of course, be interesting, funny, strong, flirty, manly, considerate, gentlemanly, massively solvent. While I'm in the Ladies, he'll unobtrusively pay the bill, and then he’ll offer to walk me back to my car. When we get there, he’ll immediately say “When can I see you again?” And the rest, dear friends, family, followers, random people who have popped into here, will end in the words “and they snogged and shagged lived happily ever after.”

There's that noise overhead again! 

Meanwhile, until the happy ending materializes, I'm off on a date tonight...  

Shopping at TK Maxx

One of the drawbacks of internet dating websites is that it’s a bit like schlepping round TK Maxx; you have to have an eagle eye, plenty of time and oodles, bundles, bucketsful of stamina and massive renewable dollops of crazy optimism.  

In TK Maxx you're only allowed six items in the changing room. Unfortunately, because the garments are sourced from all over the world, the sizes are also all over the place. What can be a 12 in Marks and Spencer can just as easily be a size 20 or an 8 in TK Maxx. The shop also stocks some pretty outrageous styles (read – prototypes that never got as far as the production line because they were fundamentally flawed in the design), and you never know what may or may not work. Hence, you simply have to try on all those sodding bits of horrendous schmatta to find the jewel in the crown... Erm, OK, that doesn't quite work, but it is the middle of night, guys! Give me a break! 

So you take a trolley and meander through the aisles, dropping all manner of highly unlikely or dodgy stuff into it in the (deluded) hope that one measly thing might look tolerably OK, might fit and not have split hems or a broken zip, could co-ordinate with something you've already got; or that the ridiculous frill will, in fact, provide the unexpected WOW factor. (Does this sound familiar, dear fellow internet daters? Bear with me.)

On this occasion, I get to the fitting room, take out the permitted number of garments and begin the laborious (not to mention often depressing) process of choosing. In thirty minutes that seem like three hours, of the six items I’ve hoiked on and off, one is very, very fabulous. Almost (mildly) uberfabulous - mustn't get excited... Maybe not gorgeous in itself, but seems comfortable, makes me feel great, sends a frisson about toutes les possibilites, gives me a spring in my step and a little wiggle in my ample hips. Ooh, I’m younger already! Only problem - when will I ever wear it? There may be an event coming up shortly, but maybe not. It’s not of my usual world, considering my loathing of the stuff that goes with it i.e. high heeled shoes and standing up straight, but I’ve bought it anyway… What do you think? 

So it’s going to hang in the wardrobe where I’ll look at it from time to time. Of course, I’d like to wear it as soon as I possibly can, but for the moment I’ll have to content myself with all the other tired old rubbish in my drawers.  

Tu parles francais?

On verra.

;)

And what did Stella say? I'll tell you what she said. She said that I need look no further than directly above my head. Mon dieu! Qu'est-ce que c'est? C'est rose, c'est grand, c'est quelque chose qui grogne. Meh! She can be such a killjoy! I bet you didn't know she can speak French too, did you?  


A little something for Jody.