Are you behaving yourself?

There lies one gentle doctor, brilliant, cool, calm and collected. One has to listen very carefully to what he says, because it's always in an undertone. Something which I could describe as sotto voce. Why? Because he is no prima donna like some other doctor. Perhaps because he is into pathology and not into the brainy kind of medicine. Perhaps brainy doctors are queer. And although it's a different kind of medicine to the brainy field, this doctor, quite brainy himself, is a tinge strange. He reminds me of Sherlock Holmes, but he has no Watson, there is no trace of gay in him. Although he's quite good at being a detective in his work. Pathology must be no mean feat, it is, in a way, very much like detective work, one still has to chase the culprit doing harm. So perhaps it's fitting that he dons the Holmes look. My wild guess is that he has a very attractive female Watson too. It's all there in the eyes, in the subdued voice. Almost perverse. Or actually perverse. But one thing he asks, always asks is, have you been behaving yourself? The first time I was taken aback. Was I in a doctor's surgery, in a confessional, an 8 year old being quizzed by a stern headmaster? Then I noticed the smile, a wry kind of smile, just like a British. Oh God, this was sexual. And how do you answer a question like that? I was in a state of panic. If I said no, then that would make me a nerd, if I said yes then would that make me a sex maniac? I had very little time to make up my mind. So I said nothing, I decided to copy the wry smile. And I smiled my wryest smile. I'm not sure if it worked or not. This man has eerie insight. And I'm not sure I'm looking forward to my next visit. Because he'll ask again. And can I get away with smiling again? I'm not so sure. Perhaps I'll direct him to my blog.

Oh so pretty!

This is me in a good mood. Because the world sometimes gives you a broad smile and you have to know how to see it in time. This time, I'm in time. And it feels good, and pretty. The word pretty never fails to make me smile anyway, even just on its own. It reminds me of an extroverted woman and an introverted man trying to make music. I've performed it plenty of times with them, and it's always been a scream. I've always been treated to one big laugh. Because over 50 people shouldn't exactly belt out an 'I feel pretty' to an audience. Oh come on. Neither should over 50 people fill their good lungs with air to sing, 'For I'm loved by a pretty wonderful boy!', when that boy is an almost 50 year old husband. One thing in for them, it is entertainment of the best kind. It makes me laugh, always, without fail.

I have always wondered how good old Leonard Bernstein actually accepted to compose music to these lyrics. Or maybe it was the other way round. But the words are fun, fun, fun. It's a let-down-your-hair sort of thing where all things suddenly come to life in a big merry go round. The song, if I could write about it in a nutshell, is about a girl who has become so deliriously happy that she's become totally nuts. She thinks that the city should give her its key, she thinks that a committee should be organised to honour her and that Miss America can just resign, all the while being so obsessed with how pretty she is. Lovely song if you want to push your self-esteem. And I somehow can relate to it... such a pretty face, such a pretty dress., such a pretty smile ... such a pretty me! Told you there would be no self-esteem issues here!

Vibes

Sometimes you walk straight into a place and you instantly know you're going to be ok, because you get the welcome vibe. Other times you walk into another place and you start getting apprehensive, the way a victim feels when he spots his bullies from a mile off. At least I do. And I can do nothing about it but bear it. Not grin. Just bear it and think of all the other welcoming places. All that is ok, because you know what you're dealing with. But yet other times, you walk into a place where the vibe is mixed. At least, yet again I do. I walk into one specific place which is welcoming even before you step right into the building, given a hearty welcome, under suspicious eyes. And those eyes drill right into me and make me feel guilty... for being made welcome. I am made to feel like a monster just for the praise of not being a monster. I don't know if that makes sense. I'll try to make it make a little more sense. When you're working with little people, you do not only work with little people, but also with the other adults who also work with little people. And if you love little people they just love you back. It's instant, you don't have to work very hard for that. If you also respect little children, they will respect you back. And little people, who have less inhibitions than big people, will show their love sometimes physically; a big bear hug, a smile, a taking you by the hand, and verbally... I love you Miss. As well as all the other gifts and cards made especially for me. They go to a lot of trouble to make their cards perfect little cards and something like that makes you happy for a month. It's a great big reward and sometimes I wonder what I have done to deserve it. I have done nothing special, I have been fair, and careful not to do the mistakes some teachers have done in my past. That's it. And I don't think I'm their supreme superior, I can guide them yes, but not shout them into nothingness. That, I'm afraid, is not my style, never will be. I will appeal to them because they are my friends and if they want to be my friend then we have to respect one another. It works. So many people say some horrible things about little people, they're not what we were, and that's a good thing. I love little people who feel comfortable about my presence, who are not afraid to ask, ask, ask, I will answer, that is the least I can do. Yes I have grown to be a big old softy where little people are concerned, and this is coming from the woman who hadn't a clue as to how to say hello. But that was five years ago. Things have changed. Children can be cruel? I don't think so, not if you take the time to explain. It's almost ironic that I, a big girl in all respects get to work with people so little. And... although there is that diversity, I have never had one single problem. True, little people will never be able to make their hands meet around my waistline in giving me a hug, but oh boy do they try! So what's bad about that? Nothing, nothing and again nothing. What's bad is the constant scrutiny of eyes which make me feel bad just because I've been hugged a second ago. It's not a nice feeling, and yes I know about child abuse, but I wonder which judge will make me spend time for having been hugged. The problem is, certain people are pompous and think they not only rule their roost, but their workplace, the environment and the world. Yes that I what I think they think. They do not have a court room but create a court room vibe where they certainly are never in the dock. And it makes me wonder why. All bullies are bullies because they are being bullied themselves, they have a problem with their own identity, so why not shove it on some victim. As it is, I am no little victim, if my crime is being loved by little people, then I am guilty, very guilty. And it's probably what those eyes think, deviant little eyes. If they too are the window to the soul to whom they belong, then I don't even want to think what's inside.

Tears

It's late late late. But I don't care. I feel like shouting Good morning America at the top of my voice. Which doesn't make a lot of sense because it's not morning and it's the E.U. here. But nothing would stop me from doing it anyway, I'll shout Good Night Africa if it so pleased me. Such is the definition of relief. We are not out of the woods yet, but I though that at this time today I would be making funeral arrangement. And instead I am sipping Iced Tea and smoking at leisure. I've cried a million tears today, the tears of spent up stress, the tears which flow involuntarily because they are the body's way of saying, I have to have one outlet please. And so let it be. Tears never hurt anybody. So I can cry, as much as I like.