I Have A Friend
Without Prejudice
I have a friend who is given to vast excesses and huge enthusiasms. She reminds me at times of Toad of Toad Hall, a faraway look in her eyes and a parp, parp, emitting from her lips as she gazes longingly at a retreating, car. Life, House, suitor. She can also be ruthless when ending a recent enthusiasm that no longer suits her needs.
She screams not talks, her hands raised in the air, waving around. She calls herself a "wog" and in these days of political correctness it seems a loud jangling word screaming out who she is. She however, doesn't
" Give a shit ! "
I adore her but she drives me nuts and vice versa. We have gone for each others throats many a time, we just have stopped short of bitch slapping each other. Hopefully too old for that now. Some of her stories I have already published, and I no longer see her as she used to be funny and lovely and lately seems negative and bitter.
But when she was funny and lovely she grew a new enthusiasm almost overnight. She decided to take up the accordion. A Topanno family type of accordion, not a little hand held accordion, a great big massive accordion with the white buttons and the fake burled red plasticated front. Big pleated fans either side that wheeze in and out like a pair of bellows
She booked music lessons with a youngster round the corner and told me all about it with lots of screaming and hand gesturing. This was going to be her " thing" from now on. No more men! No more romance, sex, dating, nada, zilch, to all that. She was taking up the accordion with a vengeance had visions of herself on stage, playing away at the Planica or other ethnic dance.
Lessons were booked and paid for ahead. She waited excitedly for the accordion to arrive. I asked her if she read music and she answered no but she would pick it up. She was 65 by then and I had my doubts about the whole thing but she is so enthusiastic about her new favourites its hard not to get caught up in the excitement.
The treasured accordion arrived and I rushed to her place to see this new enthusiasm. She was quiet when she answered the door, no screaming delight, no hand gestures. I crossed the room to the shiny new object. I asked how it was,
" Forget it " she uttered and threw herself down into a chair.
" Why ? I asked, admiring the lovely red shiny accordion.
" It's that heavy I can't lift the effing thing and when I did pick it up and hoisted it up on to my chest my tits got caught in the fan pleats "
We drank home made grappa and laughed until we cried, she had to run to the bathroom,
" I'm wetting myself, " she gasped as she ran.
Turned out neither the accordion nor the lessons were refundable and I think the shiny red "thing" went out in the next hard rubbish, never to be seen again.
Love Nette
I have a friend who is given to vast excesses and huge enthusiasms. She reminds me at times of Toad of Toad Hall, a faraway look in her eyes and a parp, parp, emitting from her lips as she gazes longingly at a retreating, car. Life, House, suitor. She can also be ruthless when ending a recent enthusiasm that no longer suits her needs.
She screams not talks, her hands raised in the air, waving around. She calls herself a "wog" and in these days of political correctness it seems a loud jangling word screaming out who she is. She however, doesn't
" Give a shit ! "
I adore her but she drives me nuts and vice versa. We have gone for each others throats many a time, we just have stopped short of bitch slapping each other. Hopefully too old for that now. Some of her stories I have already published, and I no longer see her as she used to be funny and lovely and lately seems negative and bitter.
But when she was funny and lovely she grew a new enthusiasm almost overnight. She decided to take up the accordion. A Topanno family type of accordion, not a little hand held accordion, a great big massive accordion with the white buttons and the fake burled red plasticated front. Big pleated fans either side that wheeze in and out like a pair of bellows
She booked music lessons with a youngster round the corner and told me all about it with lots of screaming and hand gesturing. This was going to be her " thing" from now on. No more men! No more romance, sex, dating, nada, zilch, to all that. She was taking up the accordion with a vengeance had visions of herself on stage, playing away at the Planica or other ethnic dance.
Lessons were booked and paid for ahead. She waited excitedly for the accordion to arrive. I asked her if she read music and she answered no but she would pick it up. She was 65 by then and I had my doubts about the whole thing but she is so enthusiastic about her new favourites its hard not to get caught up in the excitement.
The treasured accordion arrived and I rushed to her place to see this new enthusiasm. She was quiet when she answered the door, no screaming delight, no hand gestures. I crossed the room to the shiny new object. I asked how it was,
" Forget it " she uttered and threw herself down into a chair.
" Why ? I asked, admiring the lovely red shiny accordion.
" It's that heavy I can't lift the effing thing and when I did pick it up and hoisted it up on to my chest my tits got caught in the fan pleats "
We drank home made grappa and laughed until we cried, she had to run to the bathroom,
" I'm wetting myself, " she gasped as she ran.
Turned out neither the accordion nor the lessons were refundable and I think the shiny red "thing" went out in the next hard rubbish, never to be seen again.
Love Nette
