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the pre-whineybaby

Dressed up.

 

My ears burn from the earrings poked thought closed up holes.  My feet dont hurt yet from the high heel boots, but they soon will, once we start walking.  They comment that I look good, asking me to turn to them so they can see my face.  Make-up as well, I think its that, not the earrings.  My face is flushed with having to put up with this sexist praise.  Why can I only look good dressed up? 

 

I wanted to ware a suite for this formal warden dinner, but did not have the money to forfill the cross-dressing need.  So Im stuck wearing an old velvet skirt with a cigarette burn, and a top too low cut, but with the advantage that the boys will be looking down it rather than at my figure. 

 

My face has frozen into a smile, sarcastic or shy depending on how well you know me.  Im worried now that this is going to be the whole evening, worrying about what people have chosen to ware.  I just have to keep remembering what I thought of walking into University.  In Amsterdam, that town far away in memory, Id have worn this outfit and felt at ease, because it would have been a statement, not of fashion or politics, but of my reality.  I have no money to spend on clothes, clothes which do not mater.  It is not my problem if they can not see past my appearance, pock scared and flabby, its just that I hope I dont have to put up with it for the whole three courses. 

 

I mean I was asked if I was a vegetarian, and it turns out its duck, the one meat, if you can call duck meat, that I dont eat.  Havent they seen the TV pictures of the white ducks walking around and around in a circle caged in barns, never getting to swim in water?  I mean how cruel are these people are.  Duck meat also tastes of fish.  Oh, but of course if they havent been fed on fish maybe the meat wont taste of it. 

 

I sit back into my swirly chair and come to grips with loving make-up.  I love how it feels on my skin, stopping me from touching my face in case I smear the paint, and how it looks in glass reflections.  I love how my eyelashes stick together slightly so that I have to open my eyes wide.  When I have make-up on I stand straighter, I look at peoples faces hiding my feelings behind the mask.  Its the same type of reaction I have when I ware a dildo, feeling it press against my leg, transferring its power into my soul. 

 

Im wearing a pendent that my farther gave to me, one birthday long ago.  My neck hasnt started to sag yet, but it will in a couple of more years.  Touch my hand now up to the wrinkled skin the memories of that night come flooding back.  I got up early and was tired early, but the flow of alcohol kept me awake.  We laughed and I remembered what it had been like to be an undergrad.  Sitting over them, on the high table they were cute and sweet, non-treating.  I let the photo drop to the ground.  My hands are trembling and when I reach down I feel like my Gran, days before she died.

 

Its time for your pills.  They are held gently in the soft palm of a hand, blond hair falls over the womans face, and I wonder if her bush is also blond or if shes dyed her hair.  I image running my tongue over her clit, at laugh, gurgling as I imaging her reaction to my leering.  I use my pointy nails to pick up the tablets and put them in my wrinkled mouth before reach for the water.  She turns and walks away, and while I eye her arse I remove the tables before they dissolve in my saliva.  There would be no escape in their medication. 

 

My eyes focus again on now, ending the prediction of my future alone and deserted.  The sky is grey outside like it always is in this country.  Ive not seen roses in years, and the newspaper says that green pastures are being turned into concrete.  The Americans are bribing the Turks, the British are bribing NATO and well all fall down dead.  If I get past this dinner Ill go on a peace rally, do something meaningful, make myself believe Ive made a difference.  Im sure the world leaders will pay attention to millions of ants marching, I mean they would make such a mess on their shoes.  Maybe they would just get someone else to stamp on them.  Maybe thats what Blair will use the two billion pounds for, cleaning his boots. 

 

You would think Id know better.  Better than to be procrastinating about a dinner, three short hours during which no one will be allowed to harm me physically or mentally.  Yet Im still aware I might feel pain.  The phantom pain of childhood memories which formed this chimera; male, female, young, old, stupid, intelligent, beautiful, ugly, pacifist, anarchist.  But no, no mater how far Ive come, I still come back here.  Deep into my red bleeding heart to find my strength.  I am me, and if you dont like it then fuck off. 

 

With that attitude I walk out the door, clucking along in high heel boots, making an effort to remember not to drink too much in case I sprain my ankle.  Hes forgotten to tell me where it is so I follow the other two up the hill, and dread begins to take me when we round the top and walk down, Cardiac hill.  We arrive 10 minutes late. 

 

Were greeted by Adrian, stinking slightly of alcohol, but very jolly.  His arms are thrown wide and large jesters welcome us while he whisks us through the dinning room and to the back room which is serving as a gathering room for all the top table invitees.  Its really the corridor to the toilets, but kindly hidden.  Were smiling widely since most have had a drink and the English politeness has melted into soppiness. 

 

Ive been told Ill be sitting with my back to the students, and I wonder if my top will creep up to revile a builders crack.  As we walk out all the students are asked to stand, and they fumble to regain balance.  Were looking down at the name places, trying to spot ourselves.  Im called over to the other side, seems Adrian has made a mistake; Ill be facing them tonight.   

 

I sit down and pull open the napkin, fiddling.  Adrian is to my right, a blond haired guy to my left, and across from me is another man, surrounded, outnumbered.  During the first course, pate, I talk to the left side of me, about law, hes a barrister.  Its mildly entertaining noting when he admits that hes married, watching him watch me to see a change, forcing there not to be one.  His wife is sitting across to the left of him, and she is well groomed.  Turns out this is her do, her party, which as he says when I ask how he is connected to the hall, I feel I have a right to be here, not connected with her. 

 

Adrian interrupts at some point, I think after the duck has been served.  Yes it was then.  He caught me at a particularly undercooked vain of fat, and the blunt butter knife slipped. 

I gave up on eating and concentrated on drinking.  Desert wine was passed around, and then we slipped out and drank some port in the lobby and cider down stares in the hall pub, dancing away.  At some point I started hugging.  I get very huggy, especially when Ive not see the boyfriend in weeks.  I think Id insulted someone, and thought that hugging them would make it better.  Maybe it did.  Im sure that hugging would solve the coming war, I should start a campaign, SEND-A-HUG, that or dropping E tablets to them both, with the added bonuses that a mass surpluses of E would solve US crime figures as well.  Oupes Im sure someone asked me about genetics and I rambled on some nonsense, I do hope I did not hug them as well. 

 

We arranged to leave the club, taking a taxi because I was so crippled I couldnt walk from the loo to the sink.  That was all yesterday, today the ceiling is white, slightly flecked by green mould, my legs ache from the boots.  The clock flashes 5:00, and its time again to get to work.