Hope dies last

Misogynist

Hope — Wed, 23 Jul 2008 16:55:19 +0000

My sister and I are standing in the queue at the supermarket when an older man walks in shouting.

“Is anyone driving a silver Punto? Silver Punto you’ve double parked behind me.”

We all look at each other and say nothing. The manager, a tired looking woman who has probably seen this happen one too many times, shrugs her shoulders and tells him to jot down the license plate number.

He returns a while later and begins to shout once more.

“Whose Silver Punto is that?”

A young man holding a litre of coke pokes his hand through the crowd of mostly tired looking women in a queue and says apologetically ,

“It’s mine. I just need to pay and I am coming.”

“By the time you bloody get through the line, I’ll be dead” the old man replies, clearly over exaggerating because the young man is third in line and the line is moving at a considerably fast pace. His attitude however has slowed down the entire supermarket. I do not know if it is his mad unbrushed hair or his crazy eyes but we all want to see what he will do next.

“Come on, big guy” he continues, “Us men don’t do this sort of thing. Women do.”

There is a collective intake of breath as every women in the supermarket keeps herself back from attacking him with diapers, low fat yoghurt or a kilo of potatoes. The young man, bless his heart, looks just as shocked as the rest of us but maintains his composure.

“Oh come on now. There’s no need for that.” he says putting his litre of coke on the floor and runs outside to move his car.

We all but applaud when he returns. And the old man?

Well gosh, his wife is one lucky lady.

So very Sex and the City-ish

Hope — Mon, 21 Jul 2008 13:57:53 +0000

I’m training a girl who will be taking my position come August 1st and for the most part she is quite lovely.

The part that isn’t quite lovely is the part where she manages daily to twist the conversation to the fact that I am four years older than her and without a man. While she is in a long term relationship and planning to get married next summer.

I may be without MAN but gagging for marriage I am not. So, her attempts at making me feel bad have not been very successful.Her attempts at pissing me off, however, have succeeded beyond her wildest ambitions. I have wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until the belief that a relationship is the only real defining aspect of a woman plops out of her head. I have wanted to then stomp on it with my freshly pedicured single feet.

Instead, I smile and let her search the internet for cheap tickets to great honeymoon destinations. My smile only wavers when I look over her shoulder and say, “Oooo, I’d love to go to the Seychelles” and she retorts “I think you’ll have to get a boyfriend before you start dreaming about going on a honeymoon.” And she laughs. And I laugh. All the while, wanting my elbow to meet her face.

Then, the other day she came back from an errand telling me that the old guy at the bank had hit on her. The line he used was priceless and I giggled and asked her if she would tell her boyfriend.

“Off course not.” she said.

“Oh? Why ever not?” I replied cooly.

“He’s the jealous type. If he knew that some guy at the bank is hitting on me? He wouldn’t let me leave the house ever!”

“But, but…its so funny.” I ventured.

“He won’t see it that way. I tend not to tell him things that will make my life more difficult.”

With that one statement any feelings of envy I may have had that she is on the verge of ever after and I am not, flew out the window.Because isn’t it much better to be single and fabulous than in some controlling relationship with a man who appears to be incredibly insecure?

I thought so too. And today as I had a ten minute window before a meeting I decided to run into Zara and buy a pair of fabulous shoes to go with my revived BEING SINGLE ROCKS attitude.

I walked the couple of block easily, with a fresh swing in my step and a swagger in my hips. I think the thought, “I am awesome” must have passed my mind a couple of times.

As I reached the entrance I noticed a glorious maxi dress at the far end of the store that would be perfect for a single girl. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed another woman approaching the dress and so I did what anyone of you would do in that situation.

I began to run.

And suddenly I was not running anymore. Suddenly I was spreadeagled flat on my face, the contents of my bag sprawled across the floor with me and ten pairs of eyes staring at the mess in front of them.

Suffice it to say, arrogance does not suit me. And the universe will go out of her way to throw me in my place each and every time I even try to go in that direction.

Don’t hate me because I’m weak

Hope — Fri, 18 Jul 2008 11:57:50 +0000

I went ahead and sent Real a Facebook message.

Now, excuse me while I go smoke a cigarette and ponder about my extremely low self-control.

He did reply, but still-

It’s the principle of the thing, right?

The man who would not tell me his age

Hope — Thu, 17 Jul 2008 12:22:43 +0000

We only went out on one date.

I was newly in London, and also a little bit drunk. He was tall and attractive. We bantered back and forth for hours in a dark club. Then he walked me back to my residence and as I stood on the staircase, finally a step taller than him, he asked me for my number.

I gave it to him because that is what you do when you have been downing vodka for over three hours. Later, as I snuggled in bed my phone lit up. I do not remember his words but I remember that smug feeling of arrogance that rose in my chest. ‘He likes me! He really likes me!’

The fact that I didn’t, only registered the next morning.

When he asked me out, I should have said no. But a man who can keep me interested by conversation alone for the amount of time that he did is surely one that needs further investigation.

***

He was still tall but not as attractive as he had been in my vodka saturated eyes.

He also refused to tell me his age.

“How old are you?”

“How old do I look?”

“24-25″ I guessed.

“Maybe.”

“Younger? Older?”

“I don’t know.”

“Tell me.”

“What does it matter?”

“It doesn’t matter, I just want to know.”

“Age is nothing but a number.”

“Yes, Mr Cliche. So If its nothing but a number just tell me.”

“It shouldn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t matter. Which is THE REASON you should tell me.”

The conversation went on like this for quite some time. He attempted to change the subject and I attempted to go along with him. But, the damage had been done. He had managed to bore me, infuriate me and annoy me by his, very weird, refusal to divulge his age.

***

I was no longer present in my own body. I was watching someone else let this man kiss her. My eyes were closed because I was not home. I couldn’t even feel his weight on me until I did. Then, I opened my eyes and saw his mouth, fish-like, about to touch my lips. I moved my head, his lips landing somewhere along my collarbone and as he slowly attempted to seduce my neck, I was focused on one thing only.

“How the hell am I going to get out of this one?”

His hands were in my hair and mine in his when I stopped. I think I pushed him off and told him to leave. I think he was a little taken aback. I know I didn’t care. Not even a little. He feigned concern as if his kindness would change my mind.

” Look.” I said as I stood at the door. ” I can’t think of a lie to tell you so here’s the truth. [My first lie] I am not over my ex and I only realized it as you were kissing me [My second lie]. And I don’t want you to kiss me. [The only truth] So let’s see if we can be friends. OK? Bye.”

We didn’t become friends. That is just the sentence you say when you are trying to get a man who you are not particularly attracted out your room fast enough for it not to become part of your memory; fast enough for it to become something that never happened.

***

I saw him the other day. I had forgotten about the circumstances under which we met all those years ago.

“You’re looking as beautiful as ever.” he said. And then as he continued telling me about his plans for the future, my mind wandered; my hands folded across my chest.

I was trying to recall if this man had seen me naked.

I went back in time. Lying there on the floor, the weight of a man I was not used to on me. Then, I unfolded my arms and put them to my side because he hadn’t seen anything that was not on show right then. As he said his goodbyes and I went back inside I said aloud to nobody in particular.

“Thank god, I’m such a prude.”

Ego

Hope — Mon, 14 Jul 2008 14:48:30 +0000

On Friday afternoon I felt a tugging at my fingertips. Then, a pull. A very familiar pull.I tried to ignore it and did as the self-help books suggest.

I took a shower. Washed, rinsed and repeated. Twice.

I exfoliated. I moisturized.

I brushed my teeth. AND FLOSSED.

I took out the trash. I made my bed. I smoked a cigarette.I sent out a couple of emails and then seeing as I was already online, I logged into Facebook.

You see, that familiar pull for attention was stronger than my pride.

I composed a new message and calmly added Real as the recipient. My hand directed the arrow towards the send button.

But then something remarkable happened.

I stopped.

I picked up my mobile phone and I dialled a number.

“Hello?”

“I’m calling because I am about to send Real a message and you have to stop me.”

“Erm. Yea!”

“Say, step away from the laptop, Hope.”

“Step away from the laptop, Hope. Seriously!“

‘Yes, you’re right.”

“What on earth are you even writing to say?”

“You know just something about the job.”

“Why do you care? He doesn’t care. So you shouldn’t care.”

“Say more stuff like that.”

“Delete the message.”

‘I’m deleting. I’m deleting.”

“Are you sure?’

“Yes.”

“Get out of Facebook NOW.”

“I’m going. I’m going.”

“Get off, I said.”

“I’m off. I’m off. Geez.”

***

My ego is slightly bruised and so my instinct is to come up with a new plan. A ‘how to get the man to want me and then I’ll show him’ plan.

But honestly? I’ve been there. I’ve done that. And I’m still single.

So, for now, I’m ignoring the pull for attention. I’m enlisting my friends to stop me from making more mistakes with this man. I am hoping that this one sentiment that has been on my mind for the last week is true.

It is far easier to nurse a bruised ego than a broken heart.