She was absolutely stunning, a refreshing sight for my thirsty eyes. I saw her at a shopping mall, elegant, slim and gorgeous. I wonder who she was.
For a moment I thought she looked my way - hah, hopeful me as usual. But hey, she actually was, yes, yes, yes, she looked my way and smiled at me too, or at least I thought I caught her insipient smile.
O mama mia, that Mona Lisa sweetness, I felt utterly rapt. My lucky day but I looked behind me just to be sure. Okayyyyy man, no one else, I was it!
As she approached me, very thrilling for me if I might add, I thought she looked somewhat familiar. That elusive memory told me she was someone I had seen before, hmmm, I must have been dreaming, again. But I was beginning to feel uncomfy.
"Hi, kaytee ... right?"
It was a voice strange to me but a wonderfully mellifluous voice, very sexy with just that touch of huskiness I loved ... but that accent, that curl of her lips that contained just a hint of a sneer, and that cock of her beautiful head, were all too familiar.
My heart bloody sank, my hopes dashed, my disappointment must have shown because she said next: "You look disappointed to see me."
It was HER - that bloody bitch from my school days - not just any olde bitch but the most right wing bitch I had the misfortune to cross swords with in class. The bloody f-clone of Margaret Thatcher.
How in the f-world did a scrawny pimpled-face overbearing boring bitch of a scarecrow with a squeaky voice get to become this gorgeous elegant long-legged babe with the sexiest voice I've heard for a long long long time?
Sheesh, from Jiang Qing to Hsu Chi - the world just isn't fair.
See how she triggered all those f-word from me - believe me, my blood pressure shot through the roof then, and I was straightaway on battle station.
But let it not be said that kaytee did not rise to the 'socialist' occasion.
"Haaa! Accusing as usual, Margaret! Who's disappointed? I was just desperately searching for a name in the deeper recesses of my subconscious to place you."
That should put her in her place - BTW, Margaret's her real name, and did not refer to Margaret Thatcher, her heroine.
Thick skinned as usual, she replied: "I looked different from our school days, don't I?"
I have a natural reflex with people like her – ‘twas on the tip of my tongue to lash out and hurt her in the most caustic manner, but I pulled back at the last minute and told myself after a second of inward reflection - what the hell, man, those bitter days were years back in school, ancient history blah blah, no grudges, clean slate, etc, etc.
"Well, Margaret, you do dress differently ..." I grudgingly conceded, deliberately avoiding any reference to her personal looks. I thought I was rather brilliant by referring to her dressing (which BTW looked very elegant and damn expensive, as to be expected of the rightwing bitch).
Yes, I had sidestepped any acknowledgement of my awareness that she looked gorgeous, a sexy doll-like hottie.
Besides, when one talked with a bitch like Margaret, one looked carefully for hidden (verbal) daggers and secreted poisonous darts (remarks). I was very wary, I must admit.
"What's this Margaret business, remember you used to yell Maggie at me?" she smiled in the most friendly disarming manner, and added just before I relaxed too much: "But you look the same, dishevelled hair, casual [bitch, bet she meant 'sloppy'], and you even have the shadow of a beard. Still keeping that socialist look?"
My systolic pressure must have jumped up by several millimetres of mercury but hey hey hey kaytee, I told myself before I retorted angrily, hang on a ding dong minute, you did have dishevelled hair, unshaven face [especially on a Sunday, and it was a Sunday] and you were the most casually dressed bloke in town - the only reason you didn't wear Japanese slippers (thongs) was because you thought someone might spit on your bare toes [and not accidentally too].
"Yes Maggie, I am still what you used to call a pinko, and (as a riposte) do you still keep those posters of Margaret Thatcher, Elizabeth Bathory, and Catherine the Great in your room?" I replied ever so sweetly, making up those personalities [and not that I had ever been in her room, Heavens forbid].
to be continued ........