A
small slice of Trinity.
Made
in England, content Canadian would be on my label, if I
were a soft toy. Waiting for my real life best describes
my stance but upon reflection this might actually be my
real life! Sitting between the baby boomers and generation
x this puts me in my 30’s, both young and old at the
same time with a unique ability to identify with every age.
I
am for all intent and purpose now single having been married,
divorced, involved, dumped and you name it, as it has probably
contributed to my personality thus far.
I
had a ‘Barbie’ type professional life but for
the absence of Ken. Traveling to exotic cities, setting
my own schedules but doing a bloody brilliant sales job
for the global hotel company I lived and breathed for 10
years. Three weeks ago the carpet was whipped from under
me and I fell from Grace. I had planned to shake her hand
eventually but I got slapped before I could lift my acrylic
adorned fingers to do the honors.
A
throng of "We should get together", spouting corporate
Torontonians with the ‘What’s in it for me’
reality visible just beneath the surface were suddenly unavailable
with chronically packed schedules……funny that!
Quarantine seems to be a possibility now as I have apparently
contracted a disease that my good friend explained to me
is called ‘Unemployed’. Its really nasty, colleagues
I have known for many years fake potted plant positions
just so I won’t contaminate them and others have run
for the hills.
One
such response has stretched to a former attachment (attachment
in my thesaurus is a term for one not actually considered
a boyfriend!) Hamish was defiantly vying for a permanent
position by my side and is likely to boast an Outer Mongolian
postcode by now.
Let
me share this period of attachment with you!
HAMISH
I
was introduced to Hamish at an industry function I had organized.
In his late 30’s, shorter than perfect he was puffed
up as if his body had forgotten how to exhale. To his credit
Hamish sported crystal blue eyes with long blond lashes
that camels would spar for. Unfortunately the eye sockets
couldn’t keep leaving the eyes bulging prominently.
Amidst masses of brown hair Hamish had a square jaw which
would retract when excited bearing frighteningly ‘Persil’
chompers.
Surprising
as it may be Hamish impressed me not with his looks but
with his extensive vocabulary and gentlemanly manners that
evening. We dined with three of my acquaintances; Hamish
flirtatiously delighted all and then gallantly picked up
the bill to draw the evening to a close. It is quite possible
that he was temporarily possessed or exhausted a lifetime
of charm that one night because since then we paid all bills
by ‘Going Dutch’ a tradition I think should remain
in Holland. Astonishingly Hamish also liked to refer to
himself as ‘Hamicat’ which proved intensely irritating.
So
it was that Hamish and I set out on the pot holed road of
a new attachment. His reason for living was his cottage,
a ridiculous four hours away; literally leaning into a lake
built for men’s toys!
The
time then came for an invitation of sorts to the lake house
it literally went like this: "Hamicat would like to
ask his little Brit girl to spend some Q time with him at
Hacienda Hami." Hamish had irrefutably spoken in
the 3rd person! My stunned silence was taken
as a yes and he arranged to pick me up from work that Friday.
Hamish
arrived at my office building early. With an exaggerated
John Wayne swagger Hamish made his way through all the other
offices over to mine. Now my blushing days are over but
my trying to climb out the window ones are not. Abhorrently
man sandals were the chosen foot ware with bare man’s
feet on display. I realized then that the weekend may have
4 days. With my personal space suddenly reduced to nothing
and appropriate office behavior ignored, he wanted to kiss
me with full on teeth!
My
assistant was at this time looking for a trap door, but
she was not spared,’ give Hammi a hug too’ he
said to her. She looked stuffed for a moment then an urgent
visit to an empty mail box dragged her away. Dressed for
work, in my pinstripe suit and heels Hamish & I made
the strangest cottage bound couple.
Having
suffered a White Snake serenaded journey we arrived at our
destination, where ever that was exactly I still don’t
know. Hamish announced that we were crossing the lake to
his friend’s house for drinks with no time to change.
I was encouraged to just throw on some running shoes which
of course I did not. We left as we were.
Thankfully
his canoe weighed down by a ferry boat size motor didn’t
start so we took the car. These friends all smelt and looked
as if they lived in and from Great Grand Ma-ma’s closet
BUT it was my high heeled boots that offended the fashion
sense of just about every cottager alive. Hamish said that
they were for killing the lethally poisonous dock spiders
which was apparently hilarious.
During
this hilarity one of Hamish’s work colleagues arrived
‘Hamicat
!!!
Matticat !!!’
they shouted as if standing on different continents. Hamish
then proceeded to lick his hands and stroke over his ears
in a cat grooming fashion and Purr
very loudly in unison with his friend. I sank my entire
freshly poured glass of red wine, alcohol served as my distraction
from insanity.
After
endless people on the lake banter we returned to Hacienda
Hami. I mused that perhaps Hamish was of Spanish or Mexican
decent but concluded that the cottage name was just dam
annoying. Hamish just let his nonsensical babblings fall
all over the night sky’s fabulous Friday night performance
‘Fan diberly daberly abulous’ was his favorite
tripe. ‘Little Hami would like to talk to you’
gave me an instant headache that excusably needed uninterrupted
and immediate sleep.
Sunrise
at Hacienda Hami was intoxicating, so much so that I agreed
to go Seadooing.
After
promising the opposite Hami Speed Demon Cat barreled across
the expanse of formerly peaceful water at lightening speeds,
then whilst performing a second show off 360 let the lake
take me and my perfectly straightened hair hostage.
With
slime coated seaweed constricting my leg movement and a
mouth full of lake water preventing me from screaming, I
felt like my knickers were open season for lethal dock spiders.
Hamish pulled me out of the water by my wrist and swung
me back on the devil’s ride. We were oh so joyously
on route to his other friend’s house for a breakfast
glass of wine and scintillating conversation.
With
my hair drying approximately 100 feet either side of my
head and noticeably rather less endowed as the padding from
my top had escaped in the lake, I reluctantly listened with
the occasional nod, which was all it actually took. These
‘frosted flakes with wine and beer friends ‘ had
such an eagerness to claim as their own the same old lake
stories as last night my metamorphosis into Panda women
in drag, mascara having marooned my eyelashes for my cheeks,
went relatively unnoticed..
Thankfully
Panda women did eventually leave to terrorize some other
creature of materialistic comfort as I returned home to
the tranquility of Sara, Chante, Eva and proper shower facilities
Over
the next few months Hamish remained oblivious to my uncomfortable
ness at the lake and regarded our trip as the usual fun
filled lake experience. He went on to express his or at
least Hamicat’s undying affection for me on numerous
occasions. He even hinted at little hami kittens right up
until my work situation changed. Our last conversation was
along the lines of, well, his promotion, how busy he was
going to be and how he was glad I was handling everything
so well on my own. Over & Out!
I
am convinced that if I looked up ‘Hamicat’ in
the dictionary it would say defective personality disorder,
exposure to unemployment disease fatal
Lesson
learnt:
Not
to take away from Lady Diana but a 3rd person
in any relationship is always a crowd.
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