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Thursday 2 June 2011

THE OVER-SHARE


Do you ever find yourself in conversation with someone you don’t know very well – often by distinct choice on your part - and suddenly they start divulging information about themselves and their personal life that you really did not want to know. I think they refer to that as the ‘over-share.’ Or that incredibly awkward moment between humans that reminds me why I don’t like mixing with the fray. I'm thinking 'over-share' is a much more concise way to put it. 

Just the other day I was with someone who started to tell a group of people the intimacies of her very dramatic and turbulent personal life. Of course she did it peppered with a chorus of F bombs (a favorite of mine, so no points lost there) and crude American colloquialisms that made every one of the English roses in the room turn two shades of pink. [I have to admit I enjoyed that part]. I think it was the way that she described how after a huge row her and her partner would bust open a bottle of Jack and get to the 'rowdy' business, that really got a reaction from the room. Then again, sometimes the overshare can be downright amusing, to witness anyway.

Back in my youth we had a housekeeper that was Queen of the over-share – and trust me, it was not always amusing. She was one of these women that would proudly tell you with a glint in her eye that the night prior her and her very sweaty and ample husband (I’m struggling to be polite here) got…well, jiggy with it. [Notice the trend here; why does everyone want to talk about their sex life??] Those were not her exact words as this was long before Will Smith and Jazzy Jeff. If my scarred memory serves, I think it was something in the neighborhood of 'tearing one off.' Needless to say, the image of the two of them doing anything of a physical nature was enough to put me off sex for life (okay, maybe not life). Then again, maybe that was her way of helping my Mom keep me in line.

Don’t get me wrong; it is not that I mind people speaking their mind. In fact, I am proudly from that camp - hence, my personality and ah hem, this blog. But I am also unbelievably aware of taking the temperature of the room (of course good old fashioned rebellion often overrides this. It can be sheer sport to create shock and awe) so as not to divulge the kind of information that makes people want to crawl out of their skin....unless I know them well of course, and then the gloves are off.

All this said, I suppose I wasn’t always such a beacon of propriety [all of you with stories out there about me, just pipe down. I’m a Mother now]. One of my sisters used to be my barometer of sorts. Whenever I knew I’d taken a story - or my behavior for that matter – way too far, she’d deliver that look that said, 'you better stop or I’ll make you stop.' She was kind of scary when she wanted to be. Funny enough, I had to level the King today with that exact look. Ah, the changing of the proverbial guards. He innocently (of course) stuck his hand right up a woman’s skirt and patted her thigh. He just looked at her and smiled with all the charm he possesses. Considering at the moment the kid likes to over share absolutely everything especially his eight pints of drool, I figure we have a few months before I broach the topic of boundaries. 

Tuesday 31 May 2011

WOMEN KNOW WOMEN


Women know women. It is one of those inherent primal things that’s hard to explain – especially to men, but it is pretty irrefutable. I suppose we’re a bit like lionesses in the jungle that can sniff one another out from 10 miles away, we know each other’s movements, agendas, potential for manipulation – hell, we know how the women across from us on the bus will manage to get the red wine stain out from her blouse and conceal her under eye bags without blinking an eye. We’re women, we just know these things.

The funny thing is, I can’t tell you how many times my male friends, or relatives have asked me about a woman (or didn’t ask and we all just saw the train wreck coming from 10 miles away!) not having a clue about her true motivations and in one glance, I can size her up and give them a dossier on how their said relationship will workout. Okay, fine, I’m not Columbo or anything, but I’m pretty damn good when it comes to these things, as are most women.

The easiest spot of course is the woman up to no good. These types are confusing because they often come in nice shiny packages that are very deceptive to the opposite sex; they're usually above average in height, have an affinity for silicone usage even in small amounts, and a doe eyed smile that says, I bake and read the bible in my spare time. Trust me, no one is that good. The catch is that there is always something amiss – be it a strange juxtaposition in their appearance or behavior that just doesn’t wash. Fake boobed Amazonian women are usually not going to bust out a tray of freshly baked bran muffins, but hey, I could be wrong (not).

And of course, men are absolute suckers for this type of woman and usually fail to see the glaring red flags waving in their faces (or they choose not to as they're concentrating on the woman's, ah hem, muffins). They will spend countless hours telling you how she cares for the sick and is meek and demure and likes to pick wildflowers whilst listening to Celine Dion and you can’t bear to bring yourself to tell them that she will have her fake nails in their wallet faster than you can say sucker.

The thing is, women are not being paranoid or trying to burst the male bubble in some cruel hearted way when they point these things out to their brothers or male friends; women just have a radar for our own gender in a way that men don't. On the positive and less jaded side of things, most women out there are pure at heart and would make anyone an excellent friend and partner. But there of course are always the exceptions to this rule - [and do not misunderstand me, men are not the innocents in all this either]. I suppose it is similar when it comes to men and their male radar. Although most male friends of mine describe their gender in a much more simplistic way – apparently all men want one thing, and one thing only. I’m not sure if that is sex, a hot pizza, or having the remote control all to themselves. I’ll have to check and get back to you.

Monday 30 May 2011

RETAIL THERAPY


My partner and I enjoy doing something that most couples don’t do; in fact, most men on the planet blanche and run the other direction when their women suggest they undertake such a thing (ambiguity is such a vast pool isn’t it?) I’m talking about going clothes shopping together. I'm gathering that most men would rather be forced to watch 100 episodes of Sex in the City with a face mask on and their hair on fire. But oddly my partner does not only mind such outings, he is actually a very good shopping wingman. I think the key is that his strong opinions equally match his desire for nice things. Trust me, this is an essential mix for the male shopping specimen and I've realized that if you give a man an arena to exercise his opinion it doesn't always matter what the arena is.

We usually hit a store that has both a men and women’s section – this is key and helps keep his interest up (you also promise food at a later point in the afternoon. This is another successful ploy). We split up on various sides of the store, and get down to business as shopping for the both of us is a pretty serious mission. He is very humorous when he shops. He puts on his 'trying on' clothes face (serious, pursed lips) and has very distinct taste for what he likes and doesn’t like. This usually encompasses a longwinded commentary on why something works or doesn’t work (for me, this process is much simpler – no it's ugly, yes, I like it. It’s pretty much that simple) – "the fabric feels funny and the color isn’t right for such and such reason, or it resembles something so and so would wear on that show we watched that time and he certainly can't go around looking like so and so," etc. Then for some reason, every time I pick out a shirt he gives me that look of disbelief and reminds me he is not a cowboy or lumberjack. Why I always get this response is beyond me.

Then there is his bottom half (get your mind out of the gutter). Something about watching him find pants/trousers to fit him makes me feel that there truly is justice in the world. Cause for all the years I’ve spent trying to find the perfect fitting jean (they’re usually too long, too slim, or too big in the waist without appreciating the junk in my trunk), so has he. He’s not the fit into just any old pair of pants type guy, and the fact that we both have ample curvaceous ‘back,’ shall we say, also foreshadows what the King will be doing in his future – I’m assuming shopping for the perfect fitting trousers. We'll probably have family jean fitting day, just to make it a joint effort.

My partner also likes to help me shop; Again, I think it is because he prides himself on having an opinion about everything and he thinks of things most men would never consider. He’ll approach things practically – ‘that makes your ass look fatter than it is.’ Um, okay then. OFF it goes. [When shopping one doesn’t have time to sugarcoat things]. Or, ‘I like it, and you could wear it with those high purple shoes of yours or those little flat elf looking ones.’ He doesn’t always describe things in the most flattering ways, but I get the idea and greatly appreciate the effort. He also has a very strong opinions about the things he does NOT like me in. I have a nightdress he calls the 'Jesus shmata.' I gather that’s not a good thing and I should put this at the back of the drawer pronto. And according to him, only hookers wear wedge style shoes. Fine, if the wedge heel lights up or is made of colored lucite, but no matter how many times I try to tell him that certain shoes with wedge heels are not for women working corners, I’ve promised to save my espadrilles for when I go see my sisters. 

Okay fine, we certainly don't always agree, but I know I have a good thing, so compromise is key.
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