Shakespeare and Black Lacy Bra’s

“Let’s all go play hide and seek. I’ll hide the crockery, you go seek it.”
That’s not what women do. We have a kitchen that functions, for the most part any way. Then you get the helpful guest. I love him dearly, honestly I do, Marks friend Jack is a jolly good chap, as one might say, but he’s a bloody nightmare. Leaving yesterday afternoon, I was sad to see him go, but as we all know, if we really admit it, it’s good to have our homes back. Mine however is going to take a while to recover.
Jack unlike Mark is an organised man, now I didn’t say tidy, but organised. With a lack of space, the dining room became his den and he arranged his belongings, which consisted of bike trousers, jackets, helmets, work kit and carbootle, along with a clothes horse, in front of the boot box next to the freezer. It was an interesting few days.
My Mark was a good catch, he was a broad-shouldered Rugby man when I met him and now he is a broad waisted Rugby supporter. At my age, I’ve come to the conclusion that I can browse the shops as much as I like, as long as I don’t get my credit card out, I’m doing OK. It’s allowed for me to appreciate a good looking fit man, what I’m not allowed to do is stand 5 feet away with tongue hanging out whilst holding a tablespoon covered in whipped cream, especially when said young man is half naked and only in his early 30’s.
“I wish you’d put it away.” I stated.
“What this?” He flexed his muscles and looked down on me seductively.
Actually, what happened was he froze and his body tensed up. He looked at me in complete horror as he scrambled for his t-shirt. “I was just changing.”
If some bright spark hadn’t realised that men can be sexually harassed as well as women I’d have been all over him like a rash, then I woke up and realised that I’d have to start all again with teaching a man how to put things back from where they came from and that empty packets are an exception and should find their resting place in one of the three bins. No that does not mean that a man is to ask which bin to put the carton, box, wrapper in, every time he empties one.
That split second of lust I used to feel when I was young, has now dwindled to a Nano-second. I’d never lie and say that I don’t feel aroused by young men, but the amount of time that it takes for me to drop him like a ton of hot bricks is getting smaller and smaller. I’m not sure whether it’s the fact that I really do love Mark or if I just can’t be bothered any more. I’ve just thought, I’d hate to become one of those widows that everyone tries to pair off with the newly divorced man that moves into the area, lonely and determined to find a live out wife-slave. I digress.
So, to recap.
Friend is here to stay, he is young and good looking.
I woke yesterday morning to hear the clattering of plates. I had cleared up the previous evening, but consider draining boards to have been invented to let things drain, so who am I to let a darn fine invention to go to waste. Jack, bless his heart was clearing the dishes.
We had a pleasant morning chatting and I could feel my kitchen was not happy, she had a disgruntled feeling. And yes, my kitchen is a living, breathing room, she is my heart and soul. So there. New age nanna feels the love in her home.
I waved good bye to Jack, after copious cuddles and hugs. I’ve adopted him, what can I say, I’m a mother. It’s a shame he doesn’t get on with Mandy, there would be a mother’s dream come true. Her daughter marrying her husband very young, handsome best friend. Family barbecues with everybody liking each other. Maybe I should lock them in a room together. Oh no, I haven’t forgotten about Mandy’s newbie, just thinking is all.
Most women would jump straight in to the reorganisation of their home when their guest leaves, I’m not most anything, so last night was spent in the worthwhile past time of painting. It was only this morning as I went for my breakfast that I realised I would have to use an alternative breakfast bowl. All the others had taken up residency in soak in the sink. As I opened my crockery cupboard door I had to take a second look. Where there used to be three smoothie bottles, all of my breakfast bowls, the plastic picnic bowls, the Chinese rice bowls, and four glasses, stood three drinks glasses, one tumbler and two slimjims, and the shelf was full. I just closed it, I’d deal with it later, my OCD wasn’t up to that amount of trauma first thing.
Breakfast was eaten from a glass pudding basin, I showered, walked the dogs and then took another look around me. This was a simple task; however, my stress levels were having tap dancing lessons on my pulse points and I had to find a plan of action. That took a while. Eventually I got started.
OK hands up all those that can multitask and finish everything they’ve started.
Show offs!
My problem you see was Shakespeare. Do you know that he has caused more cases of Borderline Personality Disorder than anyone? His drug induced attempt at writing English, I mean let’s face it, if he was that good he wouldn’t have had to invent new words, has led to more breakdowns in children doing their English Literature than any number of bad parents. And there I was Sunday morning faced with OCD reactive chaos trying to clear up. You see on Thursday we had done the “very middle class” thing, of going to an outdoor production of Midsummer Night’s Dream. Thanks Jack never considered myself class bound, I’m now aware that I’m a pretentious hitch, who hates Shakespeare but loves open air theatre, with my non-alcoholic wine, plastic arm chairs and golfing umbrella, because of course it rained. So, when we returned it was too late to clear up. On Friday, I was out all day and it would have been rude to spend time away from my guest in the evening, so we were surrounded by the Tupperware mountain, and my kinky black lace bra. Which I hasten to add I never had a second thought for at the time.
I had to do higgerypockery with the tumble drier, whilst pulling out our clothes to dry Jacks I found my black lace bra had given forth the underwire. Now I’ve tried the stitch in time on these things before but only to have the offending wire work its way up through my cleavage and tickle my chin, at the most inappropriate time. Its either that or I have to remove the wire and then try and rip the other one out to avoid the one hung low syndrome. So, there it was, on the table ready to pass into the depths of the bin, only I couldn’t get to the bin, for at the time there was as Jack and Mark deep in conversation in the kitchen. I wondered if they had an empty packet and if they were trying to decide which bin to put it in. Alas, couldn’t have been, the side was still full of rubbish when I went back in.
We spent the evening discussing the idiots on the road, the politicians who hadn’t got at clue and pineapples, which is a completely different story. I was totally unaware that the black lace bra was staring my guest in the face all night, that is until just before he left and it was mentioned in a throw away remark. Jokingly I offer it to him. He could leave it laying around, after all my 34GG would be considered quite a trophy. He politely refused. I was already cringing with embarrassment, if he had accepted my offer, I would have died. We do say the most ridiculous things at times to hide our true emotions or is that just me.
I’ve digressed from Shakespeare to black bras. It’s an easy train of thought to follow honestly, which is more than can be said for my attempt at reorganising my home. I’ve washed up, that’s out of the way at least, and I can see the boot box now, and half the dining table. There are still knives missing from the knife block, and serving spoons in the cutlery draw. Jackets haven’t reached the designated hooks behind doors or in cupboards, there’s a quilt and bedding hovering around being shuffled from pillar to post which will be washed tomorrow.
I’ve reshuffled the kitchen and she has given a sigh of relief as she settles into organised chaos, which only she and I appreciate and understand, Mark has a clue or two. The dining room is still sobbing, there is an air of, “don’t touch me, just don’t touch me, I want to get over the trauma before you fix me.” The front room escaped the deluge, I’ve removed the quilt and covers and reassembled the electronic air freshener, put the coffee table back into its carpet dents and I’m very remarkably satisfied and the fact that it escaped unscathed.
When push comes to shove, Jack has left now and he has taken his things with him, if I’m honest this was my mess and I’ve had a darn good excuse not to have to clear up over the past few days. Now if I could only find that tenner I lost last week I’d be happy.
It’s a sad house at the moment. My guest has gone home, Mark has gone away for the weekend and I’m left in a house that has heard laughter and philosophy at the same table. There has been good food and wine, whilst we catch up on each other’s life’s. Jack is an extraordinary young man who has plans beyond any of those I’ve heard from any other young person. There must be more that dream as he does, he tells stories of travelling and those he has met. He tells of countries and his time spent with dragons and cattle. He talks about his linguistic challenges as he travels through China, spends time in the Near East and explains why he searches for a suitable University in Germany at which he can study for his next adventure.
I’ve had my time, my dreams and my life, and feel full for it, his life is just starting and already his life is filling up with the wonders that he experiences. It would be nice to be young again, but I do like my home, even if she is a bloody mess. I’ve no one else to blame, nor thank for my life.

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