Ladies

I am going to try and behave like a real lady. Because lately I've not been much of one. The thing about behaving like a lady is that it forbids a girl to say it as it really is. It takes a girl on the forever tour of trying to find lame words to describe what would otherwise have interesting potential. Behaving like a lady is hard work, it is responsible for some serious TMJ seeing you have to smile sweetly and innocently almost all the time. Ladylikeness also plays around with a girl's hearing ability, since no lady ever hears swear words, it also makes her very short-sighted because she doesn't see some things which are, summing it up in a word I hate... inappropriate. It is inappropriate for a lady to hear see and talk. It is appropriate for a lady to have doors opened for her, fur coats delicately removed by the stronger (?) sex, and chairs pulled out for her to be seated first. Of course I know how to behave like a lady. I wear delicate pearls, soft make up which looks as if I've just got out of bed but takes an hour to create. Oh, and my nails. That is a problem. A true lady should have carefully polished nails in French manicure. I have my own carefully polished nails, but what a waste that would be, French manicure. No, I want the all over the place nails, the ones that make a statement. I want bold lipstick and heavy eye liner, and I would trade pearls for black diamonds anytime. Oh dear, I'm not sure there is a true lady in me. But then what would the definition for lady be? My dictionary reference says, a woman who is refined, polite and well-spoken, of a high social position or economic class. And I try to be objective, I'm a St. Joseph Blata girl after all. So that makes me automatically refined, and don't try to argue with me. Of a high economic class? I would be if I didn't spend so much on designer stuff. But since I am childless and nobody is depending on me financially, then I feel as if I deserve the designer stuff because I am a lady. I'm not bad in public, I am polite, I am well spoken, I would never dream of swearing within someone's hearing. I think I do well. It's just this blog of mine which I have to be truthful to. So out come all the shitty words, stories about thingies, double sexual standards and disappointments about girls trying to be ladies and failing miserably. Most girls are not ladies. Most girls are pimping themselves out for something or other. I see it every day. I just never see the pimps, because today seeing we are so very advanced you can get a whore-and-a-pimp all in one. That is called a lot of progress. Ladies... big sigh. Ladies today are getting TMJ for the wrong reason, not through smiling. Ladies today are partially deaf because they panic they will die old and alone and think that the loud-mouth which comes along is fine because they are hard of hearing. Ladies today become short-sighted because they do not want to wait for a sight for sore eyes, so they start overlooking this and that. Low expectations do not make a lady. And after all is said and done, ladies today suffer from back pain because time, never forgiving the locked jaw, the lessened hearing and myopia plays the wicked trick on them. The trick which is called "I-told-you-so", through which they become experts on ceiling covings and ceiling gypsum. But the real lady, a timeless lady like me will have just watched, smiled, will not have stuck to her expectations and so will be ignorant as in ceilings but wise in her smile. And I smile. And I rest my case.

One Guy and loads of pee

Now yet for another thing happening this morning. It's not about ladies anymore, it's about men, or boys who like to think of themselves as men. It happened during break time. I needed a loo-break desperately. And as I trotted off to the loo I see a man go in. Shit (not as in real shit), I would have to wait, my bladder already at bursting limit. So I waited and noticed that this man had got into the ladies. Perhaps by mistake. I also realised where I knew this man, it took me down the ugly part of memory lane, I remembered this nerd who had just one girlfriend in his life (and it was because he got very lucky), and I don't think he'd changed at all... for one he was in the ladies and not in the gents room. Anyway I waited and remembered. He finally made an exit, and just as he saw me making a move to go in, turned round, walked straight back in, and flushed the loo. Then he made this cheesy excuse that he was about to forget! About to forget in my terms of the language means remembering just in time. This one didn't have a case of amnesia, he was just plain lazy and since it was obvious that I was going in, it was also obvious that he was about to be caught out as regards his filthy habits. On no, I wasn't buying it, the guy had just not flushed because that is what he probably always did. Perhaps to save on Enemalta bills. Disgusting, filthy man. And he hadn't even washed his hands, had he done so I'd have heard him. Because people wash their hands at least with water, water can be heard, and the sink was clear. Shit again. I summed it all up in a snap, was I to use the same loo as this filthy man who hadn't even washed his hands but had touched the door knob? That meant that he'd not just not flushed his pee away but he'd also touched his thingy together with the pee and then touched the door knob with his fingers which had also touched his thingy and the pee. Talk about the Princess and the Pea, this one qualified for the Guy and the Pee. One step further, he also qualified for a degree in the Guy with the Pee all over the place. There was absolutely no way I was using the loo, and the floor! Oh God, it was pee-riddled. So bladder bursting or not, I had to walk away in disgust and anger. Because a full bladder makes you feel somewhat irritated, but as it was I would have rather taken to doing it doggy style (no, I'm not hinting at the something else) and squat behind a tree somewhere. But I couldn't really pull that one off in broad daylight, so I just had to use the little peoples' loo, which was perfectly flushed and clean. When are men going to learn? With all our eyelash batting, we still manage to pee down the inside of the loo and not down the outside. Are most men myopic? And how do they manage it even without toilet paper? Do they fling it dry in a North, South, East, Westernly manner as in cowboy behaviour, or do they just place it under the automatic dryer? Or do they, God forbid, just put the pee and all into their underwear? And this in turn raises another uncomfortable question, who is it who is washing all those skid marks away? Or do men just dispose of their underwear every day? And what about the men who think underwear should go a long way? Because seeing this nerd didn't flush the loo, if he were trying to save water, then wouldn't he try to make things last as in desperately trying not to use the washing machine? And how does my man, who is slightly myopic always manage to do it all decently? He's not just good, he's very clean. And any guy, no matter how ugly will always pull himself off as long as he's clean. I think there's just one way to do it, confiscate loo keys for a week and let men find their own way to flush their bladder. I'm not so sure they'd be very happy to bare their thingy out to the cold weather and splash all over a tree. Poor tree. But they've got to learn.

Rhetoric

I see a lot of women during the day, perhaps too many. I'm no feminist, but not even a female-turned-male chauvinist pig. I just think the two species should have equal rights, equal opportunities, equal treatment. Which is puzzling, because it seems that women do not want that at all. They want to be treated as the fairer sex when they want to play the game called rhetorical. It consists of flapping smudged eyelashes, pouting colour-smeared lips, adjusting pants as if they were tight-fitting jodhpurs. And they want to play the game with men. And men do not want to play. So they prod, cajole, dig, and pierce them until they have no choice. And then the men beat the women at their own game. Hence the sulks. Geeze, am I the only one seeing it happening every day? Men do not want to play the mind game because they don't need to. Ever since little, they get their own fascinating toy down there. They look at it, touch it, kneed it, do whatever and are happy. We get nothing. But we are also fascinated by the boys' little toy so we learn to appeal to it and make the boys think it's the greatest thing in the world, so great that it can also replace the brain. It's so sad. I think I am against women in the workplace, because my workplace consists so much of women with a sprinkling of men. This sprinkling potential is then halved because we have to let the gay ones out, and what is left is just a pinch. And this pinch is constantly being abused by the eyelashes, the lips, the head laugh. And the saddest part of it is, that the abusers are ugly women who think that the cosmetic field can make them beautiful, and then again they do not even know how to use the cosmetic fields, so they smear and smudge, blacken what is already ugly, probably in the hope of hiding it. And they do one miserable job of it because they haven't yet learnt that there is no prettier nose than mine. That is all. So subtract all of these and add the rhetoric game. The What-if etc etc. Just leave them alone. They're loners like me. They don't want to play because they have their fair share of play. Just like me. And no, I'm not growing myself some phallic something just for my pleasure. I have enough toys...

And now it's the freckles!

I tried. I really tried not to get another "Are you all right?". But Dior didn't even manage it. And just as I am carefully reading out an exam paper to a boy I get it again; a stranger asking an "Are you sure you're all right?". And the thing is I'm sure I'm all right but I'm not sure what is causing this doubt of allrightyness. So I asked why, just got an already known answer, "Because you look sort of pale. And because it's as if you have freckles of something." Freckles or something? Freckles by all means, but a something as if it were contagious? I like my freckles, even if I didn't like them, they've always been there, so it's not as if I have ever had a choice. Freckles do not make me look all wrong. This is now bordering on the discriminatory. It's mostly the Church's fault, because the Church is easy to blame and it's so strong as to bear the brunt of everything. But all those love-the-klandestini-neighbours sermons are having their toll. So now the Church-going population is starting to think that dark is normal, and pale is not normal. Any time now I'm going to be thrown sticks and stones just for being whiter than white. I'd better not comment on what I feel for the klandestini because sometimes I grumble my fair share. And at the same time I think it could be me. And apparently it's starting to be me, just on the furthest colour palette. I am taking a good look at my face in the mirror and I think it's normal. But people don't think so, including my mum. My mum thinks I look worn out. And that makes me think of the Bible, as in the 7 years of famine and the 7 years of abundance. And I don't want to think about fattened cows for a very good reason. I'm not worn out, I lead quite an easy lifestyle, I get enough sleep, I basically don't do much. Nothing to be worn out by. But with a big majority of men turning gay, and with so many klandestini running all over the place, I really think I'm going to become a very rare breed of white. It'll be just black babies sooner or later. And my yet uncooked babies will be the subject of racism because they'll be white. It's my grandad, God bless his soul, who was a terrifically good looking man even in his eighties, the product of an Englishman who left his seed and fled to his country. Generations later, I inherit the white skin and the freckles. Just what's a girl like me to do?