Peter's ice cream I bought you a week ago: Choc Fudge Sundae. Scattered with nuts, Swirled with chocolate, Rippled on the surface. I desired you tonight. Smooth, sweet, cool. A frozen kiss To explode on my tongue. Tonight I opened my freezer, Excited, anticipating. Yet when I pulled off the lid, You were not frozen, But melted, melted, melted. Oh why? Why did my freezer stop working?
These sort of strange things could only happen to me.
On my way home from The Institution several days ago, I received a text message.
Msg: "Thanks for the other night. You were amazing. Want to catch up again?"
Unfortunately, I have had a drought of amazing activity. Amazing activity seems to avoid me. In fact, we are currently barely on nodding terms.
My instant reaction was that this was a practical joke. Some one that I am friends with (why on earth would I be friends with these people???) must have gotten a mate to text me. So I rang the number.
Me: "Who's this?"
Stranger: "Who's this?"
Me: "Who are you?"
Stranger: "You called me!"
Me: "You messaged me!"
Stranger: "Sarah?? It's Stranger!"
Me: "Uh....noooo. I'm not Sarah..."
*stunned silence*
*bewildered laughter*
Stranger: "Oh my god! I'm so sorry I'm so embarassed."
Me: "That's okay. Congratulations on having an amazing night."
You'd think that would be the end of it.
However - to my amazement (oooh! something amazing!) as I drove home, I received another text message. A picture message. A close up view of Stranger's erect penis with the attached note "As promised..." From this point forth, we shall refer to Stranger as Dick-man. Another message followed: "So sorry. How embarassing. I even sent a pic. Ahhh. Pretty funny though..."
Ten minutes later, another message. Another picture. Another penis.
Followed by another message: "Sorry again. Hope you have a good night...Dick-man."
I didn't know whether to feel harassed or amused.
And I thought that was the end of it.
It's now two days later, and I continue to receive messages on my phone from Dick-man. Sometimes asking me what I'm doing that day, what my favourite food is, what my favourite sexual position is, and if I'm enjoying the weather.
Now, Dick-man has been told, you are messaging the wrong person, and yet, he seems to really want to chat to me. And send a third picture of his penis.
Is this a random, friendly and somewhat perverted stranger? Or is this someone indirectly related to me in some way playing a practical joke?
(Thankyou to those of you who managed to get to the end of this rather long-winded post.)
Yes, yes, I said I wanted to be left alone, and I still do.
I think I'm just desirous of the company of those that have been absent from my life recently: Ra-Row, Looking Down, and dare I say it, MC - the ex.
Esq. asked me today how long I would be willing to wait for him if he were to grow up and change his mind and essentially see the error of his ways.
That's a good question. Am I waiting for him? Or am I simply in the process of s-l-o-w-l-y letting go? I said to him that as long as the feelings were still present, there was still a chance.
Is there?
I truly don't know.
Five years is a long time to let go of and get over.
(Yes, I realise that (1) and (2) cannot both be achieved at the same time and that if (1) or (2) were to happen that would actually, probably fulfill the requirements for (3).)
I've been wondering why I've been so fucking nuts emotional and depressed recently and have experienced such erratic bouts of binge-like shopping.
(I bought a charm for my bag. It has gems and diamantes and knitted pom poms and a rabbit's arse on it and the colour matches my handbag perfectly. It was a waste of money and is completely useless and everytime I sling my bag over my shoulder, the rabbit's arse whacks me in the back, but it's soft and furry and it gives me great pleasure to stroke it feels nice.)
One of my assistants, The Package, said "You must be ovulating."
After realising I had to pay the government an unholy amount of tax money, I swore to myself that I was going to start sticking to a budget.
Naturally, I went shopping later that day.
And by shopping - I mean SHOPPING.
And by SHOPPING, I refer to the fact that I spent so much money that within two hours I had spent such an amount that American Express felt the need to freeze my card for fear it had been stolen.
I got frozen on my own credit card.
It was a very proud day.
I spent the next day answering questions regarding "some unusually high spending activity", assuring the gentleman with the american accent (it's an American Express card after all,) that I was the one who had spent the money and had simply gone "a little nuts".
However, on wearing of new purchases to a party, I had three guys try to pick me up simultaneously.
Shame? Guilt? Mounting debt? Destitution?
Sufferage for the cause.
And if you don't have beautiful material possessions, how else are you supposed to know what you're worth?
Sassy 20-something single Sydney-sider with an odd fondness for penguins. Perhaps it's because they not just live, but thrive in the harshest place on the planet. Perhaps it's that they are monogamous and spend time searching for that one soul mate. Perhaps it's because they're loyal and dedicated to their partner once they find them. Or perhaps it's just because they look cool.
