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Knickers?
Trina has just left after arriving on Monday. She got very drunk that evening, and picked at her idées fixes at exhausting, inconclusive length. That is, how Kim wants to drive us apart; how I mustn't hide my financial situation from her and accept without baulking at it, the constant financial assistance she gives me; and the worst of all, the "where is this going" question, related in her mind to my "lack of commitment." A couple of weeks ago I was very cool about the idea of some kind of "public commitment party", where we invite our friends round for an afternoon in which they spectate upon our narcissistic self-congratulation; so, a marriage ceremony in all but name.
I shushed her, aware of the figure we are presenting: a Shaz and Daz who volubly rehearse their domestic disagreements over too much drink in cheap pubs. "I was that far just now, that far, from walking away," she said, once her emotional state came out of the nadir of the sine wave that maps its movements once she's on the second bottle. That tactic won't work Trina, because you'd be bereft; I'd be a bit regretful and would find another girlfriend fairly quickly. I just wish we could enjoy the good times and not analyse everything.
The following morning, alcohol's effacing work was done, and she was apologetic and unknowing, asking to be reminded of what she had said. I said that it doesn't matter, and "that was then and this is now", too weak to do anything other than postpone any further mining of her insecurity. "You were a bit withdrawn though, and grumpy," she said. "Mmmm. Well, shall we have some coffee?" Just go, just leave. I want to be on my own.
The following evening she was outwardly changed, chatty in that overlapping way that I do like with her, sociable, wandering off to talk to these two women we'd earlier given directions to. Even then, she raised the worrying prospect of her soon having ten consecutive days off, most of which she assumes I'll be happy sharing with her. She showed an entirely false interest in a lecture I'm going to on Tuesday, when Terry Eagleton will be discussing "Raymond Williams and Marxism." Please no. What do structuralist critiques of literature mean to you? This is my interest, not yours. And most importantly, I'll be desperate to escape by then. Which came out as "Erm... I'm not sure it would be of great interest, to be honest."
Out of my un-harangued ear, I picked up the following.
Man: You got me ex to cheat on me.
Woman: No I didn't.
Yes you did, you set me up with a fucking ginger.
(They both laugh)
Woman: Get it down yer. You let it happen.
Man: I had to have a fucking DNA test on my ginger child because of you.
However, she was handy in helping me assemble a futon I bought recently, a bargain at £27 off Ebay. At one point we had to support a strut while we screwed it in at the other end. I knew my Philosophy degree would come in useful one day. The futon, by the way, is the most comfortable bed I have ever in. Several nights in, I still marvel at it. By day, it folds up and gives you so much more space.
Kitty's having her birthday party at mine next month because parties at mine are of surpassing excellence. I sent the invites out:
Hello all. Just a reminder to iron your knickers and polish your cravats for Kitty's party at 44 Acacia Avenue [date] 9ish. Superfly soundtrack from DJ Barry. Be there or be talked about. Or worse, not be talked about.
Melissa replied "Knickers? What an assumption!"
21 comments
I know from bitter experience that you can’t force yourself to want/like/love someone more than you do, but I can’t help feeling sorry for Trina, because the inevitable break up will be just as you describe.
Name change, not sure why.
- Homer
I never wear knickers when I go to a party. They’re crotch tyranny.
“Erm… I’m not sure it would be of great interest, to be honest.”
You’re excellent at understating, Looby but i think she smells a rat. I too, need my privacy and enjoy being alone sometimes.
*selects hottest temperatura to iron knickers*
Best plan F. Men should leave well alone from such esoteric practices.
Homer/Suzy: Yes, it’s a shame. There’s been this disparity of feeling from day one. I like her to knock about with, go out dancing, have sex, and so on, but I can’t feel anything else. Whereas she often says she loves me. Oh well, we’ll cross that one when we come to it.
Leni: Foreign girls, so louche.
Hipster: I was surprised she even asked to come along really. Why would you automatically be interested in what your boyf is doing? And just mind the scorch marks.
The lecture sounds interesting, although I get a bit of a bee in my bonnet about his Catholicism.
Life is way too short to be ironing knickers.
i find myself a little sad for Trina - and can see the same ending you predict, as does Homer. In my fantasy world, she wakes up one morning, says “Thank you, my dear, it has been lovely, but I simply can’t get what I need with you.” and moves on…
The odds of that happening are probably about the same as her realizing that she should just relax and enjoy the moments at hand and forget about what’s next because it simply doesn’t matter…
Ach. All the questions. What a grind. And…please. She remembered exactly what she said. I’ve played that game myself. It’s all about to blow-up, I’m afraid. Maybe for good this time.
We have a futon that we plop our guests on. They’re amazing. An engineering marvel. Enough to restore my faith in humanity.
I wish I could come to your party. You could all watch from a distance and be entertained by how blitzed I become over such a small quantity of alcohol.
GB: Yes, I just steer clear of Eagleton’s Catholicism. I’m more interested in his earlier period, before he did this Turn to Jesus. It’s really Williams we;ll be discussing though, one of my first cultural studies loves.
DF: No, that’s not going to happen, neither of them, unfortunately. I’m happy with just enjoying ourselves. I think something has changed though, this last couple of days. And it’ll be interesting to see what happens when she’s off for two weeks.
Exile: Yes… the end creeps nearer, perhaps. It’s a measure of my cold rationality that I hope this doesn’t come before we’ve gone to France in April!
You’d enjoy the company at my party, I’m pretty sure. And there’s no need to absolutely hammered–I had enough of that with Richard on NYE, who very nearly got chucked out.
PS Despite being considerably younger than most of you, I have never woken up after a night on a futon and NOT felt as if someone had been working me over with a crowbar all night. Fucking things.
IKWYM–everyone’s got different levels of hardness (ooer) they prefer. I prefer something just one level more forgiving than a plank. The mattress I now need to get rid of is a good one – it was new a couple of years ago and hardly used for one of those, and is Slumberland – but is just too soft for me.
When you say “louche” you mean me? *laughs loudly*
Do you read Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason before you go to bed? It’s a bit anti-lust, isn’t it? But I bet you don’t have that problem…
A woman who goes without her undergarments at conversazione can I think, reasonably be described as “louche".
I’ve read The Critique right through once, and that was a long time ago, and I had expert help. I’m still in awe of it though. I recently found it a solace when Trina and I had had an argument. She stormed tearfully off to bed, and whilst sat on my own downstairs, looking resentfully at the uncomfortable sofa that was to be my bed, I saw that one of my most longstanding blogpals was re-reading it.
Leni….there’s nowt wrong with a bit of Kant ! ;)
Certainly not, Gossamer. But I do prefer your Bits of Before. ;)
*pulls knickers on and sticks tongue at Looby*
Sorry, *puts knickers on*
lapsus, tipo… whatever *grrrr*
That’s an interesting distinction Leni. But one perhaps to be discussed in a context other than the disembodied internet.
Knickers I think should be “put” on, but “pulled” off. Or down. [That’s enough–Ed.]
Thank you Looby! You can’t imagine how useful your English clases can be! ;)
*puts knickers on, pulls knickers off*
I’m a firm, a very firm, believer in practising what one has learnt.
Leni please, behave sweety… at least virtually!
Enough knickers, ladies and gentlemen.
I’d love to get on my high horse about the Kant, but as my own project to actually finish reading it involves making it un-re-giftable by dint of copious pencil annotations, I can hardly complain.
Besides, it’s a good philosophy whose goal is to make people feel more comfortable with their own human condition, even if that does merely involve getting some sleep. And Le Corbusier would applaud the space-saving qualities of the resulting futon, I’m sure.
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