Having a good giggle, reading Page 1 of a novel I started writing in 2005! You know, it’s 2010, I reckon it’s about time I pull finger and publish something! So, for fits and giggles … here’s page one of Chapter 1 from 2005 – blast from the past…
“I’ve always thought I should see a psychiatrist…” I hear myself saying, “… – not to see if I’m normal, I think I’m pretty normal, but to find out why.” This is something I’ve said to so many people, friends and acquaintances, so many times, and here I am sitting in another coffee shop, drinking another mango juice, with another potential mate opposite me.
Is this fun? Very attractive, self-employed, 39 years old, but what? In the span of drinking this mango juice I have to decide whether or not the potential is here for this person to be my mate. Could I kiss him? Could I make love to him? Could I have his babies? Could I cook for him? Could I pick up after him? Could I live with his selfishness? Could I put up with his irritating habits? Could I put up with him leaving his shoes in the lounge? Could I put up with clothes lying all over? Could I put up with his stubble in my perfect white basin? Could I put up with his farting in bed? AGH – suddenly this is sounding so much less appealing when I could just go home and deal with my neuroses alone. I wish! I am not alone, I get the jackpot prize of going home to my house-mate Bob, the inconsiderate, irritating, self-absorbed idiot I call my best friend and who I wouldn’t change for the world.
Thirty years old. I can hardly believe it. Thirty years. Who would have thought that 3 days before Christmas I’d be desperate enough to be sitting in this gallery-come-coffee-shop meeting someone off the internet. Dating on the internet is reserved for desperate, useless, ugly people, right? So why am I dong this? I’m a catch, right? Thirty years old, too intelligent for my own good, attractive, independent, and I have been raised by an Afrikaans gran who has ensured that I can sew, knit, crochet, cook, clean, and please my man with the best of them. My doctor can’t understand why I’m not married and making babies, after all I have perfect eyesight, perfect teeth (thanks to a little orthodontics), and, as he puts it, bullet proof skin! I smile to myself.
“…and the circulation of my magazine is about 3500 and I’m hoping it will grow rapidly…” Oh God, what else have I missed of what he said? Focus, Michelle, FOCUS! I glance at my watch, please tell me he saw that and got the hint.