Da doonk, da doonk. The train passing under the window was hardly noticeable anymore. Tammy’s move to the city had been an adjustment to say the least.
The kettle boiled clicking off as the toast jumped in the toaster. ‘Good morning’ she said to herself as she needed to everyday to confirm her decision to move was the right one. Her divorce papers were finalised only yesterday.
She also got a call yesterday evening during an important meeting at her new job which was not great timing.
“Not now mum. Can I talk to you later?”
“It’s your father dear”.
Jenny clicks her pen sipping on a fresh made cup of tea. Another light clicks off around her. “Good night Jenny”
“Goodnight Burt.”
“Don’t stay too long” he smiles.
“I won’t” her standard response. He gives a slight wave then exits. Another light goes off. “Night” a voice calls. Jenny hardly lifts her head to acknowledge.
Since the redundancies she has been falling behind in everything. Her normal duties, the ones she signed a contract for and the additional duties that “management from time to time sees fit” piled up around her.
Sigh. The clock clicks over. Delegation; managers prerogative.
Dainty was not a word associated with Martha. In her life time she’d been everything from clumsy, frumpy, outlandish, crude, rude, eccentric, spontaneous, vulgar, quirky and charismatic. Her charms to men only matched by her enthusiasm to out smart them.
Her feminine curves now faded below her dress line as her body shrunk away from its former glory. Grey, pale and knees failing she faced the nurse commenting on her “dainty” hands. “Do you crochet?”
With sharp tong she re-birthed her former youth.
“No that’s my signalling hand.” She twisted her wrist and held it up extending only one finger.
A woman standing old clothes torn, matted hair and filthy hands; could easily be mistaken as one who has lost the battle with life. It is true that time had worn her resistance to the prying eyes but like a callus she snaps back hardened. A shield to her heart.
Click clack heals, whirring coffee machines and the screech of bus brakes consume the world around her, yet she stands feeling the true warmth of the sun on her face. That’s God’s smile.
A tweet from a text message distracts. Harsh looks are exchanged. They missed the moment of peace.
I saw a competition that had amateur writers, such as myself, tell a story with in 100 words. The characters and scene needed to be believable but was not limited to reality and I thought that 100 words was clearly not enough for the stories running around in my head. So I’m using this as an exercise to create stories, capture moments that can give a glimpse into a character that you feel you know the story.
So here goes… The 100 word challenge!
Dag – an affectionate insult for an odd, idiosyncratic person. -Hamish Alcorn, urban dictionary.com
I’ve often been referred to as a “Dag”. Usually by the same person and at first was rather insulted by the phrase. I considered my self strange, with a unique perspective on life mushed up with a peculiar sense of humour. I reserved the word to describe people who were untidy or didn’t care about their appearance, such as wearing their “daggy” clothes around in town with out a care meant that they were a “Dag”.
The first time I heard the remark to describe me, it was enough shock to stop me from laughing and look down at the ground as I took it in. I kept smiling to keep up appearances and changed the topic as not to look offended. But I was. I knew I didn’t have great fashion sense and could come across strange, but I didn’t think I was “one of those” people.
Since then I have come to the rather interesting conclusion the the term was used on me as an endearing term to describe me as someone with ‘character’ with an affinity for dad jokes and esentric people.
What label does you friends give you that you find insulting? Is it something that you can actually identify with? If so, then perhaps listen to your friends because they are the one who should be telling you the truth of what you are perceived to be by the outside world.
My lunchbox didn’t fit the word ‘Dag’ until uni, it took a while for me to comfortable with it fitting me. Now the word is graffiti art work across the walls of the box. Once you identify with who you really are, take pride in it then no one can insult you for being you. No one can call me a Dag now with out me smiling and replying “Why, thank you”.
An example of my daggyness, my assistant went to Hong Kong Disneyland and brought me back a very large and obnoxious mug shaped like the movie ‘Frozen’ Olaf character’s head. Now I’m a little old for Frozen and only recently watched it with my friends kids. The gift itself would be classed as “Daggy” and some people may even be offended by it. Not me. I love it. Olaf is an odd ball character which is exacty who I am in the really world. An odd ball and a bit of a Dag. My assistant could have chosen any other mug or character, but she knew me enough to identify with my daggyness and picked out the perfect match.
Everyone needs a dag in their life. Now where would Disney be with out these supporting characters? Little Mermaid had Sebastian, Beauty and The Beast had Cogsworth and Lumiere, even Mulan had Mushu. I don’t mind being the daggy supportive character in my world. Every fairytale needs one. Oh, there I go again thinking about unicorns.
Still, I don’t think anyone should have a label, but we all pick up one along the way. It is almost impossible not to fall into a category at least once in your life time.
So, what is secretly painted on your lunchbox walls?
Who are you really on the inside?
While driving a car I happen to like to sing (really badly) and dance along to the radio or what ever CD I may have on repeat. I’m a fan of the cliche hard rock driving songs such as ACDC Thunderstruck and Highway to Hell. No, this isn’t joke I actually contemplated for many years about walking down the isle at my wedding to high octane beat of Highway to Hell. You know, just for a laugh and break tradition. However as much as it would have been fun, I am religious and the song is not exactly…. appropriate. My mother, father and Nan would most likely not approve and it’s not the greatest thing to acknowledge your marriage as a ‘highway to hell’; though I guess that depends on your perspective. I chose a much more Colourful song by the American Authors “Best Day of My Life”. Still upbeat and with the quirk only Vetti could bring to a formal event. Anywho… Driving down roads, sing and dancing in the car.
I am not alone in sharing this passion of singing along in the car… admit it…you do it too.
I used to do it (and still do) with friends when a popular song from yester year comes on the retro playback session on the radio as you reflect back on how you bopped, sung and totally ‘loved’ the song when it was a new release. Oh, the good old days.
The smallest trip 5mins down the road would see me put the radio on. I usually left it tuned in so that as soon as the key turned in the ignition I had music, sweet music, blaring out my speakers.
I drove to and from work while working in Sydney Australia even though work and home were close to public transport. Because, while in your own car you get to control the temperature, the music, sometimes the speed though city morning traffic the only choice you really have is which lane your crawling in, but at least it was my choice and of course it was an escape from the gosh awful smells that sometimes comes from public transport travel woes. You know what I’m talking about… The serial farter. So anyway, driving in my own car even for a short trip meant music playing and the chance to sing along to the words. This was my little bubble and I liked it.
Merrick and Rosso radio announcers one afternoon when I was stuck in particularly bad traffic dared drivers to start waving and look around at the other cars while you crawled through traffic. They laughed to see how many people were actually doing it. I laughed out loud as many other people in the other cars did as we all started waving at each other. Merick and Rosso’s point to the experiment was that your not as alone in your car as you think and people can see you when you pick your nose or are singing along loudly in your car. My bubble sufficiently burst that afternoon and I became more conscious of myself while in standing traffic, however, it didn’t stop me for long. I was back into the swing of things in a few weeks, in fact I think I got worse.
When I met my now husband I was at a peak of feeling wild and free and in love. While he was driving, it meant that I got to the chance to really do it MC Hammer style and bust out some moves along to the music as a golden oldie “beer” song came onto the radio. I’ve forgotten what it was, but I knew all the words and danced smiling at my boyfriend with a secret hope he would join in. What I got was a smile, shake of the head and a sigh. Slightly hurt, but never the less I refused to let it stop me from enjoying myself, so I continued. Much to his constant smiles he refused to join in. Infact he threatened to kick me out of the car and make me walk. Note: this only made my singing louder and my moves more obnoxious.
Later that evening at home our relationship had gotten to the point of those three little words “I Love You” in which he responded, “Thanks,” squeezed me tight and kissed me. Wait a minute…. He didn’t say he loved me too… Cogs that tick in a woman’s mind as she kisses. Remember guys, she is a multi tasker. I pushed away and asked with a slight frown, “Do you love me too?”. There was a pause, then slowly this mischievous smile appeared wide across his face. He looked over at me and said, “Of course I do, in your own lunchbox,”. And so it began a relationship fully accepting of my whacky habits, wired ways of looking at things or going about a task + my interesting fashion sense. He loved me for the world that I created for myself and was letting him in on.
This triumphant moment marked the first recognition of my adult life that I was fine just the way I was. I was Vetti, and being in my own “Lunchbox” wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
Vetti's Lunchbox 