He’s been a bit of a joke among my friends and me. I had been eleven years, minus two months, celibate. My friends were aware of my Quest for The Final Last Flings before my 49th birthday. Only, I wasn’t expecting “him”. Or, rather, his Mini in my Backdoor. He couldn’t get in the “prooper” way..so he snuck in the “pooper” way.
I was mortified. I kept shouting, you can’t do that no you can’t do that. Get out of there. Stop it, please! Since he could not enjoy himself while I kept clawing frantically at him behind me, his hand pushing my head down, shushing me, he stopped and told me to get out the lube and do a manual job.
Very relieved, I conceded to a manual. After that, the rest was history; or rather dating—dating anyone—was history. Other than doing due diligence with a fresh bouquet of rubbers in my secret hiding place, I’ve kept off dating sites, however much the attention I got from it may still draw me.
I’ve become a maverick amongst my churchgoing friends, although I do not attend. One gal asked me too many curious questions for a good Christian girl who led a BSF group every month to query, only to thank me for “sharing”. I had to pipe in, “For what? For me teaching you how to be promiscuous and slatternly?” She has not contacted me since.
My brother is on the Big T and OKC. I was about to be pixyish and send him a message and a fake like on OKC, but decided against that in case I’d spoil my mother’s blessings for his dates. She keeps hoping he’d find a good wife on one of his every other weekend nights. All that time, she had been calling me “an animal” and disparaging me for what I supposedly had, cat-like, dragged inside this time with my feminine wiles. Eleven years. Every other weekend night. Wow. Somehow, the two don’t equate and neither do they deserve the correlating responses. My mum is a bit disconnected.
But this is about Bad Rad. Well, ok, it was about Bad Rad, until it became about interpersonal dynamics. What about just personal? I realized my dating years are over. I’m turning 49 in a little more than a month’s time. I’ve rediscovered the library, and then also their unwanted guests like bedbugs and the common thief. As Buddhists say, Life is suffering; I had finally found my home and my nirvana at the public library, only to have to abandon it almost as quickly after concerns that the Bedbug Riddance Project will be “an ongoing process” and not a done deal. I had found the companionship of quiet, polite and intelligent peers to be very encouraging. Its too bad about becoming a sitting duck for bedbugs and thieves when all you want is to enjoy the ambience and read freely.
So instead of buying a hefty power bank for my laptop, I decided to make use of my three metre power cable and then headed to Costco for a lamp and an electric blanket for my home office. The electric blanket is more for luxuriating in after every wearying 2,000 words; the lamp is for my workstation. It also doubles as a SAD lamp. They are admittedly toys because they are cheap goods that will be thrown out once they stop working–and because they are also more convenient ways of delivering already available but substandard resources. Most people would succumb to placating themselves in the purchase of expensive handbags, in the incomprehensible fanaticism for the next vacation, and in the abandon of a spending spree on new designer clothing. Frankly, I don’t smoke, drink, roach, snort, gamble, travel, sport designer labels, get pricey haircuts, get tattoos, collect shoes or jewelry, ETCETRA. I don’t even buy a café cup of coffee when I can make my own. So, nobody has the right to fault me for my vices of loving books, electronics, Coke Zero, and creature comforts to stave off depression, from which I suffer bouts in a very serious and debilitating form, even when medicated. I also don’t have debts from credit cards. I learned to be smart and go without instead of paying the minimum payments on a $XX,XXX limit that is ultimately equivalent to remortgaging your already very small condo.
Wait, about Bad Rad. Two imperfect souls trying to find bliss in a hookup. It could have been a beautiful relationship…had I been the perfect courtesan…and he the chilvarous gentleman. It takes a gentle chemistry to get my inner geisha to come out and entertain. Bad Rad went about it the wrong way, literally. Wrong move, Bad Rad.
So, now the sun is setting and the seasons are changing. Autumn has arrived. Time to think about the reality of things. Fall is when I feel the most alert and alive. I hope it will find no more Bad Rads and instead bring on weightier, more philosophical issues. I think I’ll wisely leave the maiden chase for the young, now.
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