Tuesday, 2 February 2016
Bearing My Privates In Public
My mother has, once again, rudely invited herself on said outing. I really need to try and make sure that I avoid telling her my plans in the future. I do however have a slight method behind my madness: that is, if she is going to buy things for baby and me, then it is best that I am with her, thus avoiding a repeat of the nursery and doily disaster.
Jesus, Mary, Joseph and the Jacksons!
My life can never get any worse and then it does.
Once again the woman lectured me all morning on the importance of finding a suitable mate and how it was too late for me now.
‘What a lovely thing to say to your one and only daughter mother I would.......’ I turned around to shame her face to face but she had disappeared.
I looked around, couldn’t see her. A wicked thought flashed through my mind: ‘What if she is dead?’ and I fist punched the air. Horrified, once again, at my horrible hormones I slapped myself on the hand and then I spotted her and stroked my hand better – the fist pump resumed.
The woman was only stood chatting away to Flannigan and Tabatha and they were all laughing! At my expense no doubt. I didn’t know what the hell to do so I just left. I ran out of Harvey Nichols’s practically spitting blood as my mother stroked Tabatha’s ginger skinned gut and I headed for the escalator.
I stepped on to the escalator spitting venom. How could the psycho even begin to think that this was acceptable behaviour? She had gone way over the line this time.
And then, as if this situation could not possibly get any worse, it did; of course it did.
I was drooling down the escalator wishing my mother was dead when the worst thing that could ever happen to anybody happened to me and I wished that I was dead too.
As I was approaching the foot of the moving staircase, I saw with horror that the eager teeth of the escalator were starting to devour my skirt, ‘oh no!’
I pulled and pulled and I pleaded with this mechanical dragon to give me a break but it clung on like I was trying to cling onto my sanity, that very same sanity that Flannigan stole from me way back in January.
It was no use. The more I tried to yank my boho skirt out from the aggressive fangs of these steel teeth the more it gobbled it up.
As it gnarled at the fringe of my hippy hem, I quickly came to the horrifying conclusion that the only item of clothing that now fit me was about to be dragged from my body and there was sod all I could do about it.
My body immediately reverted to its primitive survival mode state (fight or flight and let’s face it I couldn’t exactly take flight....only thing was I couldn’t fight this either, I was losing, skirt down) as my hands tugged frantically at the cheesecloth. I had no choice but to beg for mercy as the skirt was literally sucked from my hips to reveal my bare arse just as the escalator safety system kicked in and came to an emergency stop, as did my skirt which was now resting just above my knees, the only place was down – a fitting analogy for my dreadful life.
Mortified I dropped vertically to my knees and pulled the skirt up as far as I could, at least my pubic area was covered now, I had a builders bum going on but, well.....small mercies and all that.
I desperately yanked on my skirt and begged the lord above to end this horror and to stop the world of Yorkshire and its inhabitants from seeing my rear end again but alas I realised that that this bastard in the clouds had so much more in store for my sorry ass.
In the world of Jenna the only persons to stop and help me were a group of teenage girls. The older people just sniggered at me. Some twat took a picture on their smart phone and all I could do, as I had already assumed the prayer position, was beseech the lord to not let this appear on social media sites globally and wait until somebody came to my aid.
‘Jenna what are you doing down there?’ The involuntary knee jerk reaction of physical bodily attention when my mother speaks kicked in and I literally stood to attention not thinking, ‘and where is your underwear?!!! Honestly Jenna the things you do to get attention.’
My mother spoke as if I had done this to myself on purpose as she rolled her eyes at me towards Tabatha and my bastard ex who were just stood glaring at me and my privates as the whole of Harvey Nic’s and its staff began to form a tight circle around me – it was not a protective, shielding circle, more a circus freak show. For me it was dehumanizing at best and I had no choice other than to just smile at the crowd but at no one in particular like this was how I spent a regular Sunday.
I considered asking someone from the audience to pass me a hat from over by the fascinators so that I could at least collect money for my show but the dissociation prevented me from being fully in the present moment.
Well I was eventually cut free. Not by the fire brigade but by a woman named Mavis from the curtain department.
I am still fuming with my mother who left me to go grab herself a quick alcoholic beverage because I was going nowhere fast!