Matchmade in hell....

Now this might come across as ungrateful or callous. But I’m in no need of some small town bum who has now desire or inclination of reaching more in life than the local fast food joint or car-wash. Look, a jobs a job, but have some ambition and drive.

I’m very sure my mam and nan have only my best intentions at heart. I’m equally sure that parents would like to see their children married, settled, happy etc with a person they love and respect. This does not however mean that said child wants to be set up with various social rejects from (no disrespect) church, auntie’s so and so’s son, nephew, brother, cousin, neighbor or whoever else they scared or blackmailed up from the gutter.

I’m sure, in time, I’ll find my own man by my own means. Granted they haven’t been brilliant in the past, and I’ve been out on some howlers with some equally abhorrent creatures from the depths of Dante’s inferno.  I couldn’t have been more surprised if some of them sprouted horns and a tail. At least then I’d know what I was dealing with.

But as with psychopaths and deranged killers, they look just like everyone else and can come across quite normal. Until they open their mouths and you witness what’s spewed forth. 

No i wouldn’t like to be trussed up as the Christmas gammon, with a ball gag, ta. I’m clipping my toenails the next 600 Sundays from now. A shame, I’m sure.

This same rather frightful specimen actually dragged out a studded collar and leash and told me quite up front that I could have these if I wanted to experiment! Before I could gather my thoughts enough to come up with a reply, hê also told me rather nonchalantly that hê could procure several “gimps” that would be willing to wear said trimmings. 

I jump up, right, terrible thing’s just happened, flatmate rung, I left the iron on, fire brigade en route. Must dash.

I literally run out of said fashionable establishment coat, bag, travel-card in hand. I get on the first bus i see, never mind that it’s going to Shoreditch and not anywhere near London Bridge. Gracious sakes alive. I don’t know whether i should laugh or cry.

What hope does mankind have if society is filled with these poor delusional characters that think that what women want is to be tied to a radiator while he walks around in leather shorts pretending to dominate you?

Give me strength.

After changing buses about 3 times to eventually reach my destination, I sit and wait for the train to arrive. Not long after I’ve boarded I slump into a seat rather defeated and crack open my book.

A figure does the hesitation shuffle down the aisle and plonks himself next to me considering there’s a whole train carriage full of empty seats I start to worry.

 No matter how much I frown, or pretend to be reading hê tries to draw my attention.

Why me? Why now?

You know he says, I like stamps. I like licking stamps. I’d like to lick some stamps and stick them on you.  

At first i thought he was joking, but when looking up from my book, eyebrow raised, hê seemed quite serious. Right, I’ve just about had it now.

Sir, would you please mind sitting elsewhere, I inquire? Like outside? While the train is still moving?

Idiot wont budge.

Now he goes on to tell me he likes sticking nicotine patches on (you’ll never guess where) a certain part of his anatomy as he likes the tingling sensation.

The creep still won’t move and I’m forced to gather my belongings, gird my loins mentally and stand up.

Getting off so soon love? He slurs.

I choose to take the moral high road and smack him in the head with my bag while i move two carriages on to sit by myself and read.

Hurrah, next stop is mine and I get off to walk home. 

My plight will finally be over and I can relax in the privacy of my own home before i have to brave society again tomorrow.  Hopefully I’ll have mended my mental armor before then.

Two blocks before I reach my destination, I’m accosted by some man asking the time. Do I look like a talking clock? 

I choose to ignore him and just soldier on home, but there I made a mistake again. He’s obviously after something more than just the time. He's wearing what looks like a fake Rolex circa 1975 and it’s left a lovely green tinge round his wrist. So now we know what kind of character he is.

Oi, you uptight cow (censored for sensitive readers), too good to give the time aint ya?

You know what you need, dontcha? You need to be bent over....

Before hê can finish his rather crude sentence, i lose it. Hannibal Lectre that I normally keep chained up on his little trolley has gnawed through the restraints and he's out for blood.

I bash the creep with my handbag as many times as possible, he trips over the curb and ends up in the street. In the handbag bashing the contents of my bag is now strewn everywhere, I chuck everything i can find at this lowlife in the gutter, book, hand-cream, perfume bottle, keys, even my orange I was going to have for lunch.

By now he's gotten up, running away yelling at what a crazy b!tch I am.

Probably, but what did you expect from an Opera? A happy ending?