Month: June 2016

Birthdays

Hey guys, it’s my birthday!

And even though I love the celebrations and the presents and the friends and the champagne, I panic over every birthday I have.

I panic about getting old.

I don’t mean to and I really want to be one of those women who says getting old is fabulous and embrace age and all that blah blah boring stuff.

But seriously, I panic about my wrinkles and my NECK and mortality and how many more years do I have of love and sex and long walks in the park and energy and health, and all those things that we women worry about.

And each year I think, maybe this is the year I’m gonna botox and maybe a little nip and tuck and maybe an eye lift and dear sweet god have you seen those amazing things they can do with eyebrows and eyes these days, and and but..

I don’t really want any of those things.

What I do want is small. I want peace. Equality. A world free of racism and prejudice would be cool. I want doughnuts that are not fattening. Unlimited coffee. Unlimited supply of AA batteries. Flowers. Lingerie. Good conversation. The best champagne.

And love.

Lots and lots of good delicious over the top love.

And then, there’s still that thing of a man who butters toast all the way to the edges. A craggy wrinkly romantic delicious older man who uses pure good Irish unsalted butter.

I’ll take him too.

Happy birthday, me!

butter

Intuition, part two

And then there is the other intuitive thing
when he calls
and you say yes
immediately
because you know
you just know
this is right
good
fun
delicious
safe
and sexy
too.

image

Intuition

You know that thing when you set up a date and you’re all excited? And you prepare in advance, thinking of your clothes, your hair, your shoes and which perfume to wear.

And you feel good and your heart beats quickly and you have those feelings of maybe, just maybe this is the guy?

Well, I have a date coming up.

But I’m not having any of those feelings.

Instead, I feel uneasy.

And there’s nothing that I can put my finger on. No explanation. I think he’s a nice man, good looking man, interesting man, we have a few vague connections.

But something is telling me – no.

Don’t do it, Violet.  

Do. Not. Do. It.

And it may be crazy as I have absolutely nothing to base my unease on, but – I’m about to pluck up the courage, call and cancel.

And I’ll never know if it’s the right thing to do, and maybe I’m missing out on the man who could become my fabulous partner and keep me in stockings and champagne forever.

Except, I don’t think so and it was just a date and I right now called to cancel and said hello I’m sorry but I don’t think we should go out and he said okay then no problem and sounded vaguely relieved too.

Sometimes, you just know what to do.

Sometimes.

date

smoking

To my surprise and delight I received a text from an old friend (lover) last night.

Hi Miss V. I’m in town for a while, would love to see you. Dinner on Wednesday?

Yes, yes, yes, I replied.

I think I used exclamation marks, I was so excited to see him.

And then, a few hours later, my difficult friend called me.

Usual drink on Wednesday Vee?

Can’t, I said. I have a date.

Cancel it, he said.
No, I said.
Come to me first, he said.
Nope, I replied. Are you mad?

He is very organised though, this difficult friend of mine. He sent me a schedule.

4.00 pm – my house, wine.
5.00 pm – my house, the pink couch, sex.
7.30 pm – my bathroom, bubbles, jaccuzi, cigarette.
8.00 pm – you go on your date.

I should tell him to fuck off, hey?

He should know by now, I don’t smoke.

smoke

Boom

I think I’m going to buy a small gun and strap it to my thigh.

This is a real thing someone said to me today. Someone who is pretty similar to me. Maybe a bit more gorgeous and a whole lot younger, and definitely with better thighs, but still –

A GUN.

I was horrified.

I tried to talk her out of it.

Are you mad.? The wrong people will get hold of the gun, you would never be able to shoot the damn thing, there’ll be an accident, how can you even think of getting a gun, a GUN, you know it’s crazy…

She remained unfazed.

Nope, she said. I’m scared. Scared of crime, scared of what’s going on in our suburbs.  I’ll get a license, learn how to shoot, do it properly.

Dear sweet goddesses. What has happened to us? That people like her, normal ordinary lovely everyday people are so scared.

Guns are not the answer. We know that. Even she knows that.

But fear is a terrible thing.

There is nothing good about this story at all. Not a single thing.

Except maybe I’ll get to put my hands up her skirt, on her milky thighs, to check for a little Smith and Wesson.

I hope I find French lace instead.

gun