Scarlet Blushes

                             

Oh my, I forgot to share my horrendous London experience a few days ago. I was walking to a job interview. I finally had a job interview! Of course nothing anywhere near related to what I want to do. Working on a party boat in London. Oh God that’s all I needed. Being reminded of my failure as I serve financial fascists and wanker bankers bottles of vintage wine. Ignore the verbal diarrhoea, I’m just jealous I’m not a hot shot business woman like Jordan.  So I was walking over London Bridge day-dreaming about pesto, thinking it’s really been a long time since I’ve used pesto, but also worrying about whether I can afford pesto and chastising my mother in my head for always buying green pesto. The red one goes so much better with fish. Then feeling horribly middle class, I was distracted by some builders wolf whistling in my direction. I was surprised. I know I’m not an oozing mutant found excavated from a murky swamp but neither am I usually whistling material. Hmmm maybe it was the heels. I cannot walk in heels, and I was wearing heels today, probably for the first time in a year. I was fully betraying my tomboy nature by wearing tight smart black trousers and a tight top that whispers ‘I’ll make allowances to further my career’.  I’m only joking, as if! I wore a jumper. Not my dad’s jumper. Anyhoo I waddled off in my heels a bit further on. I seemed to be getting lots of looks from men. It was like a reversed ‘Lynx’ advert. Everywhere men were staring at me, smirking, whistling. I began to like the attention. I strutted as best I could down the road giving men flickering eyelashes and coy smiles. Suddenly, just as I passed a greengrocer, a woman ran up to me obviously distressed. ‘Those men were laughing at you’ she shrilled. I said nothing but was secretly thinking, you shrew! Just because I am the flavour of the month and you’re not! I tried to brush her aside. She pointed at my crotch and said ‘Look.’   Lo and behold a hole the size of a meteoric crater had ripped its way through my trousers. It was the wrong day for scarlet pants. Turning a similar shade I mumbled my thanks and wandered off, doing a shuffle that made me look even more suspect, like I had an unsightly itch to attend to. Unfortunately there was no time before my interview to address my trouser malfunction. I waited on the pier until it was time for me to go on the boat for my interview. Across the pier a few men saw me and wolf whistled. Dear God, I thought, will this nightmare ever end! What if I ended up working with these men? I’d be forever known as the ‘Scarlet Harlot’ or a less lustrous alternative.

Turns out I got the job. I really, really don’t want to know why.