...simple on a sunday

It’s a little after nine on a Sunday morning. The sun is out and warming my face through my blood-red textured cloth curtain. I frown slightly, roll over and then there he is; quite possibly the most beautiful man I have ever seen. He’s lying next to me with his left arm around me. “morning Luv” he says. I smile at him but say nothing. God he’s beautiful!

I struggle my way out of bed and stumble towards the kitchen sink.
“Tea or coffee baby?”
”Coffee please.”
I fire up the kettle and set about the business of making hot brew for the Ken-Doll and myself. He reaches over and grabs his book and ruffles about it’s pages trying to find his placing. Two minutes later, armed with my own copy of Spud, I amble over and join him again in bed. He’s on The Madness Continues and I’m halfway through Learning How To Fly. I prop myself up with a pillow and lean slightly into him. …I am here!

Twenty minutes and hoops of laughter later (sadly louder on my part than his) the Ken-Doll puts his book and mug aside and slides up against me. No matter how much time I spend with him I just cannot get over the smell of being near him. It’s lovely and warm and, best of all, it stays on my skin even after I shower. I moan at him for disturbing my reading and attempt to move away from him. The Ken-Doll puts away my cold and unfinished coffee then sidles back up to me. Spud and his hilarious days at boarding-school drop to the floor with a soft thud. …Dear God this man completes me!

...and all things new

A quick update on the new things in my life as of 01/08/09.

The new boss:

French
Begins every sentence with the word “normally”
Punctuates every sentence with the word “normally”
Concludes each conversation with “this is good, yes?” …it is sadly not always good
Is prone to promptly emailing me surprisingly accurate details of almost every work-related conversation we have together (?).

The new office environs:

Learnt on the second day that staplers, staples and staple removers are a rare and precious commodity here abouts. I had to borrow all the above from Naadia, across the floor from me. Naadia refused despite the fact that the stationary in question already had my name scribled in bold on it. She cited stationary thievery as being rife in the office and that I too should be careful with mine (?)
Calculators, as I have come to learn the rather hard way, are akin to the holy grail in this department and should be taken out of ones handbag only in emergencies

The new flat:

Questionable acoustics all round
A near treasure hunter’s dream…just in the past two weeks I have discovered/found:

3 sewing needles

a dozen rainbow coloured feathers

1 yellow screw driver

1 large fern

something which I assume is a piece of something else

The new neighbours:

loud

no more than three members in total

the youngest has yet to appreciate the value of boundaries

prone to public displays of internal unrest and generally high levels of violence

shall hence forth be refered to as the Hatters

An Open Letter To My ID Book

Dear Green Bar Coded ID Book

I understand that you’re upset. Bearing the sole responsibility of proving my existence on earth must be hard and tiresome work, I can appreciate that. But disappearing without warning, trust me, will not improve the situation in any form or way. Do you want to perhaps show up now as things are starting to get a little heated here in my corner and I am having more and more trouble convincing those around me that I am infact more that just a figment of my own imagination.

Yours entirely
jane

...and the curious fabulosity of "future me"

So this is me, plane ol’ jane… “Good ol’ plane jane” you say, almost audibly. You smile even, pleased to have stumbled upon this here site. “Simplicity’s so hard to come by nowadays” you think, philosophically. You glance briefly at my profile pic; “Could do with a lil’ hair though” you mutter to yourself. But you’re not going to hold that one against me, you resolve decidedly. You’re a sport like that. There’s definitely something endearing about someone who can, so wholly, resign themselves to a life of complete and utter “somewhatness” you muse. You admire the neither here nor there take on life which, you are almost certain, has come to be mine. “Good ol’ plane jane” you say. “Now there’s a plain girl for you…”

“Now wait a bleating second!” you say as you straighten yourself up in your chair. You’ve now given the whole page a thorough once over. “Who could be the seemingly deliriously happy couple pictured on the top right hand side of the page” you wonder. You’re not at all fazed by the blindingly obvious danger which the handsome couple seems to have found itself in. No your confusion, my dear friend, stems from the realisation that neither one of the two people/ persons/personii pictured resembles, what you have now come to believe to be, me.

“there’s a laughably logical explanation for all this good friend” I write reassuringly. You see the slender, sleek haired, stylish personification of complete and utter fabulossity pictured above (holding ever so dearly onto the equally scrumptious gentleman before her) is infact “future me” …

“Ofcourse it is” you agree sinking comfortably back into your seat. And for a brief moment you feel the colour rushing to your cheeks. You’re a little embarrassed by your poor observation skills as well as, perhaps, your lack of imaginative thinking. However, being the ever astute individual that I am, I notice that you still exhibit clear signs of confusedness. I understand almost immediately what it is that may still be boggling your sweet little mind. …”That’s the Ken-Doll” I write. “The gentleman at the helm of the wince-inducingly hazardous bike ride; that’s the Ken-Doll.”

“Ahhuh!” you mutter audibly to yourself. The light has now been turned on, albeit slowly. You urge me on, telepathically ofcourse….

The Ken-Doll is every bit the decedent scrumptiossity in his present incarnation as the picture implies of his “future self.”
He also happens to be every bit a part of my life now as the picture implies of my “future life.” He is every bit as dear to me now as he appears to be to the “future me.” In other words, if you were to take away the dangerous locomotive contraption with unconventionally shaped wheels, the glossy well manicured mane of hair from the delicate looking lady person, and if you were to add- give or take- a few extra pounds to her waif waist line you my friend would be left with a pretty darn accurate picture of the Ken-Doll and I as we stand at present.

You take a generous swig of your now luke-warm coffee. You nod. You’ve still some burning questions though, like “Did I remember to switch off the living room lights” and “Just how feasible are some of those energy saving tips you’ve downloaded on the net” but mostly you’re wondering “How could someone as well sculpted and poised as the Ken-Doll wind up with a plane ol’ jane such as myself?”

I nod. I understand. I have asked my self the very same set of questions countless times in my life before. We bond, you and I. we have a common endeavour. We know it will take time, we know it will take astonishingly large quantities of liquarice-free-liquarice and red wine to finally arrive at the answer. But we’re not afraid, we’re tough cookies you and I!

We both down what little remains of our now stone cold coffee. “Good ol’ plane jane” you say. “Now there’s a plain girl for you…”