Esther found out that the Japanese earthquake has made our days a few micro seconds shorter FOREVER because it made us spin faster on our axis. Now she can’t stop thinking about this lost time.
“What if the next earthquake knocks us completely off our axis and we go spinning out into space?” she quivers.
“Well then, I guess we’re all fucked” I reply. No, I don’t actually because she’s the boss and such a quip would be considered insolent. Instead I comfort her with logic.
“That will never happen, I’m sure they would tell us etc”. At this point you conspiracy theorists will be sniggering at my naivety. As I have already told you, I think the man is misunderstood, and I enjoy the feeling of his/her big overprotective/oppressive arm round me. Oh how I wish I’d had a big brother to wrestle some sense into me. And to compare penis size with/ experiment with mutual masturbation. You know, the usual time-honoured family escapades.
“How many micro seconds are there in a second?” she asks
Google tells me there are 1 million.
“Oh, that’s rubbish” she mutters. “I don’t give a shit anymore”.
Real life always disappoints. Nobody discovers their junk is worth millions on Antique Roadshow. You don’t get model scouted on your way to Tesco. Getting high only leads to plummeting lower. Weird stuff that does happen is never the amazing things, always the mundane or sinister or depressing.
Thus, Lisa has become too scared to walk Devo in the cemetary in case the Polish man proposes. She has been forced to take affirmative action to point out to the overfriendly Pole that she is a taken woman.
He found her on facebook, and last week she agonised over a message that would put him straight. “I have a boyfriend” was all she could think of saying.
Unfortunately it only made him defensive. “I have a girlfriend too, of course” he wrote back. “Why should that stop us from meeting and talking?”
Lisa and Esther decided instead to avoid the park around the time he usually bumps into them.
I got really jealous the other week that he fancied Lisa and not Esther. “Why doesn’t he want you too?” I asked. “Maybe you’re not attractive enough” I thought. Fucked up as it sounds, I keep needing to know my girl is pretty to other people in order to have proof of my own attractiveness.
“You’re weird” says Lisa when she overhears me.
“Fuck off and get counselling” is Esther’s understandable reply.
A few days passed, and the girls managed to miss the Polack, thinking that maybe he had got the message and has backed off. Nipped his European openness in the bud so to speak, slapped a restraining order on his free spirit.
Today though, he finally caught up with them. He went aggro, singing raucous Polish songs to himself and throwing sticks at their heads, yelling “You should have safety helmets, hahaha”. He had replaced the behaviour of a lech with that of a sociopath.
“At least he had to stand further away to ‘accidentally’ throw sticks at us” Esther reasoned.
Is it better to be murdered than raped? Better to offend strangers than to have to pretend to be their friend? Better to throw sticks than to invite ridicule?
Adam Ant once went to his local for a quick pint, only to be bullied by chants of “ridicule is nothing to be scared of.”
When he could take no more, he slunk off home and returned with a gun in his hand and a righteous glint in his eyes.
Poor Adam. He’s just like me, but famous. He likes to rant and get naked, and he can’t take any flak.
He’s welcome round mine any time. I really want to ask him how to apply eye shadow convincingly.
Today I dared myself to walk round Topman with a pair of purple glasses with flip-up shades, flipped up proudly. I managed a quick circuit of the men’s bit, then fled down the stairs, pretending to multitask on my fone so I didn’t meet anyone in the eye.
This is phase one of operation ‘pompous, public and proud’. More to follow. Ridicule is nothing to be scared of. No pain no gain. Or, as Rihanna sang, “sticks and stones may break my bones, but chains and whips excite me”.