» Well, that taught 'em

I am a horrible person
I can't believe I'm typing these words and about to reveal a source of secret shame I've harboured for over 10 years. Only 4 people in the world know this story - me, the then boyfriend, the current boyfriend and a little person (dwarf/midget/vertically challenged - you know what I mean).

I was 16 and in love for the very first time with a wonderful 24 year old who didn't mind that I was a ridiculously fucked up, melodramatic loon who came from an insanely dysfunctional family.

We were out in a club and he was involved in a long and animated discussion with his mates about something related to music that was boring me rotten.

I felt he wasn't paying me enough attention and resolved to teach him a lesson.

When you're 16 and more used to discos than bars, and tweeny relationships vs adult ones that involve concepts like patience, accountability and respect - you think that the best way to get your man's attention is to flirt with someone else.

So out to the beer garden I headed where I bumped into (not literally!) a little person. He was very little. About 3 and a half foot. Late 30s, wearing a little leather biker jacket, ear-rings, a Guns and Roses T-Shirt and some little biker boots.

I sat down beside him at a bench and we fell to talking.

Actually, when I look back, he was a bit sleazy but he started to tell me how sad he was because he was a little person who had never kissed anyone as beautiful as me. (Remember, I was 16, a sucker for compliments and naive as fuck).

Anyway, I felt all sorry for him and self-righteous about being ignored by boyfriend so started kissing for him.

A minute later, I hear the voice of my then boyfriend yelling: "What the FUCK are you DOING?"

At that point, I realised the error of my ways.

Horrified, I stood up, groping in my drunken mind for a way to make things right.

The little person stood up between us and in consequence, was out of my eyeline so I promptly forgot about him.

I drunkenly stammered: "This doesn't count."

To which he replied: "What the FUCK do you mean it doesn't COUNT? You're KISSING ANOTHER MAN!!!!!"

I defensively slurred back at a ridiculously high volume: "It doesn't count. IT'S ONLY A FUCKING MIDGET!!!!!!"

He argued but I felt, best to stick to my guns, so I repeatedly screamed this over and over.

He eventually forgave me, by which time dear readers, alack, the little person had vanished without either of us noticing.

I am terribly ashamed of this incident and if you're reading, little man, it's a memory that will haunt me until I shuffle off this mortal coil. I am sorry. You were the best kiss I ever had.*

Little man - stop reading now.

Everybody else - * May or may not be true - I can't remember the kissing of the little person in any great detail. I just wanted to make up in a very small way and give him a bit of a lift.
(Fri 27th Apr 2007, 10:44, More)

» Restaurants, Kitchens and Bars... Oh my!

Karmic retribution
'Twas my first job.

I was 15 and eager to impress. My place of employment was the local delicatessan - it sold really nice sandwiches, soups, pastries and was patronised by the local office workers who didn't mind shelling out a few extra quid for a decent lunch.

The man who interviewed me owned the shop. A nice but dim ex-policeman from the arsehole of the bog-counties. On my first day, I was handed a large box of tomatoes to slice and arrange in bowls for the lunch time rush.

I was led into the back kitchen where his absolutely repulsive, morbidly obsese wife sat grilling sausages and bacon - eating as she went along, the fat dribbling down her chin. She had filthy, greasy hair that stuck to her pasty, spot speckled skin. I understood immediately why she was not allowed out near the customers.

Anyway, undaunted I decided to be the best, fastest tomato chopper in the world. I started slicing with speed and determination. I was about half way through the giant box when I sliced my finger. The blood went all over the newly sliced tomatoes. Unable to admit that we'd have to chuck them all out and have not enough tomatoes to cover the lunch rush, I ran them quickly under the tap and brought them out.

I still feel bad about it 10 years later but the universe has had its revenge, because I haven't been able to order tomatoes on anything since.....:-(

Apologies for length but I've heard a rumour that you make allowances for virgins around these parts......
(Tue 25th Jul 2006, 14:21, More)

» Oldies vs Computers

My Mum is odd
Eccentric, brilliant, witty, intelligent and no, I'm not in the least bit like her.

She is a little out of date when it comes to the technology, though.

She's very scared about her personal information being hacked from her computer having watched one too many scare-mongering documentaries on Nigerian scammers and 2nd hand PCs. Recently, she bought a laptop to replace her PC and my sister returned home to find her in the garden, smashing up the PC monitor with a hammer.

She has given us strict instructions that in the case of her untimely demise, our first task should be to get into her work and delete all of her computer files, then return to demolish the laptop. Presumably with a hammer. Who knows? It could provide a cathartic method of grief expulsion, I'll let you know if it ever happens.

I sometimes wonder if this sweet, unassuming woman has a secret life as an online dominatrix that she wants to hide from us but knowing her eccentricity as I do, I'm inclined to doubt it.

I also heard her smugly boasting to a friend that her daughter's work made her carry a Blueberry at all times.
(Mon 25th Sep 2006, 11:30, More)