Episode 32 – Madeline Was Right

Today was such an unexpectedly lovely day!

Despite waking up in a shivering sweat at early o’clock and again late morning, a hot shower cleared my head and my skin of SaltScrub, which saved me on salt scrub.

I was present enough to join in the family chatter of a lazy Sunday early afternoon and lay on the sofa reading (for about seven minutes – concentration is still not at capacity) and get my icy feet warmed up by my Nana, Miss Marple. I love that. She wraps my feet in her cardigan and within minutes they’re toasty. She gets it, having rubbish circulation herself: constant struggle in winter to keep her workworn hands from the blue tinge. Cold hands, warm heart. That definitely applies to her. Although she’s a softie for me, formidable would’ve been the word others used for her. My Lady, for example. There was no messing with Miss Marple. And don’t let the Bingo Queen slipping fifties into your hand when she has a win act fool you. There are tales of her turning over tables and pulling down dressers. But she denies it all. Her thirty/fortysomething tantrums have dissipated into the depths of her memory along with her hearing, which is now selectively erratic, rather than physically affected. So maybe the psychiatrist is onto something, maybe it is genetic?

Then I met my lovely (new) friend The Educator who I now christen Witty Wednesday because she has the snappiest, cleverest Omniscient Social Media Site status updates and because she was the prettiest Wednesday Addams this Hallowe’en. We had hot chocolate and a lovely chat. There was something I wanted to ask her about and I forgot, yabbering on about me, myself and I and now, I feel bad I didn’t. I don’t want to be Miss Self Involved, but seeing as I’m blogging about my Dottiness everyday, maybe my battle against self-indulgence is a lost cause. Must try harder.

I called in to Grace Kelly and Gwyneth Paltrow after. Discussing men, last night’s match and the hot men playing last night’s match: Jamie Heaslip in a WWII Air Force uniform – you’re picturing it aren’t you? If you’re a straight woman or a gay man, you’re imagining that particular role play… Whoa. Swoon. Faint. Resuscitate. Those women. I love those women.

Also, Victor Matfield. Seriously, Search Engine him.

There’s something divine about being a woman who has good women around her. There is some ethereal bliss to be found in the solidity of knowing you have that kind of love in your life. Just like Carrie Bradshaw. To think I once had Long Lost Style Queen too, one of my biggest regrets. I’d happily give up the best of the memories with Quarter Pounder and Father Rory for that back. Hold on to your girlfriends. Boy, do I wish I had seen the woods from those male trees.

Madeline Albright said “There’s a special place in hell reserved for women who don’t help other women.” If there’s one thing I can’t stand, actually there are tonnes of things I can’t stand but one of the selections featuring high up on my Punch In The Face List (along with One Direction – close your fucking shirt and wash your scummy hair, you Dirty Little Harry) it’s begrudgery. Such an Irish thing. Galled by someone else’s success. I hope I can be gracious in wishing others well. Jealousy is human. Envy is natural. But when it gets in on you and you start comparing your own failings to other people’s triumphs, you’re only succeeding in fucking yourself up. I’m sad to say I’ve seen this in women I know and it makes me cringe. But I don’t think it’s their fault: I think the pressure put on women to be all things to all men can turn women bitterly against each other. I only want to be in competition with the best, most realistic version of myself, not with the Yummy Mummy married to the adoring husband thriving in her flashy career down on Eglinton Road or with the imagined, photoshopped, über qualified template of myself that my subconscious has built out of nothing but insecurities and absorbed societal pressure from the time I was old enough to recognise that I was a girl and that girls were supposed to be perfect.

There’s an alarm going off somewhere which is probably my cue to shut up.

In short, good day, normal day.

A girlfriend a day keeps the doctor away.

Remember Steel Magnolias.

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