Organza

Now that to me is just an expensive bit of fabric. I know they use it whenever bridal belles are about to walk up the aisle, but since there has been no aisle for me, I know it somewhere else. Such a thin, sheer, lightweight fabric; the continuous filament of silkworms. Silk worms. They sound like uppa' class worms, who don't realise that their bottom line is, they're still worms. To me they sound as if they're dragging fake Versace bags, fake Cavalli sandals (how I hate this word), and fake Chanel sunglasses while having coffee at Giorgio's in Sliema. Amazingly, one coffee lasts them a whole morning. They don't just chin-wag, they must comment on other people like me who think that going to Sliema is no big deal so I don't have to posh just because it's Sliema. Because I don't fake the posh, I am posh anyway, I carry blue blood, that's why it says B+ on my blood donor card which will unfortunately never be used again. I will certainly never settle for the fake this and fake that, as long as it's not Take That reuniting again just because of me. If I could draw, and that's a big if because I just cannot draw, I'd draw the silkworms with the fake Versace, Cavalli and Chanel and make them have coffee that tastes like a camel's urine. And yet the posh ones drink it, being very careful not to get any of that white stuff on their lips lest it could remind anybody of the night before. I... I just don't give a hoot, so what? It's milk and not something else, and even if it were, what's the big fuss about. If a posh one had it on her lips just 8 hours before, then why does it suddenly become an issue 8 hours later? Which comes to the organza. Is it these women who have woven all of that? And if so, why does a girlie friend of mine with the wrong apparatus love it so much? Why does he have to stroke it as if it were the sexiest thing invented since breasts? Why does he have to wrap it around me and my cleavage and stand back to inspect then jump for joy? It's something made by worms for God's sake. And yet I never tell him this. Because I probably like it too. Heavy-petting wasn't just meant for a clumsy fondle in a car in an abandoned somewhere in the middle of the night. It has also found it's way into something more overtly clinical. And yet, perhaps it's the worms which make it feel less clinical; my can of worms which spin something as beautiful as organza.