Enjoy the silence

20 Nov

Most bras are rubbish

It’s nice to feel wanted, but recently I’ve been fantasising about being unwanted. After a day of being followed around the house, down the street, onto the bus and in and out of the shops I’ve acquired my very own fleet of stalkers. In reality they’re family and mostly minors so need escorting to and from places, but I sometimes have an overwhelming desire to leave them on the bus, or in the house when I go out or even pull over on the pavement and hide behind a lamppost while they continue to walk. I just want to be alone.

Most people are wanted or needed in one way or another. In the various jobs I’ve had over the years I’ve found my duties fairly straight forward and the demands relevant to the job in hand (except when I was asked by the manager of Pizza Express to give him a blow job in the store cupboard.)  Aside from that experience, I knew what was expected of me and however tough the job I would do my best to rise to the challenge.

My role at home is so varied that I am often exasperated by the sheer range of tasks that I have to fulfil on a daily basis. Wipe my middle son’s arse upstairs (he’s six for God’s sakes) whilst trying to unwedge the toast that has got stuck in the toaster and caught fire downstairs? Why sure. Find my husband’s passport for him as he guides me to its whereabouts on the phone whilst simultaneously trying to clear up the cat vomit on the carpet? It’s my pleasure. Do my daughter’s homework for her (inventing a magnetic contraption with original design features) at 9pm on a Sunday night while my younger brother is sitting next to me at the kitchen table asking if I’ll update his CV for an interview tomorrow? I’d love to.

Sometimes I feel like running to the hills (or the streets of Brixton) and screaming “I need my own fucking space you know. I’d quite like to be able to ask you for something now.” The list would start with a gin and tonic and end with a nice lie down on a bench. I would happily join the drunks in the park if it allowed me some peace.

My sister and I had a few daylight hours alone together last week. This is rare. We needed underwear because ours is grey and old and ill-fitting. It didn’t matter what we were doing though, for we could have just as well been going into town to spit into the Thames. The time was the important thing.

Our questions to each other when we are together always try to relate to pleasure or interest rather than need. “Would you like a drink now it’s midday?” or “Why is Ryan Gosling so hot?” We savour our freedom, the silence, the conversations that do not pertain to demands from anyone else but ourselves. In our five hours together without children or partners we managed to have lunch, get measured for new underwear, try on about fifty bras each (only two fitted) and eat some cake. We then hopped on the tube and were back in Brixton for school pick up. Nearing home, I received a text saying “You’ll never be back for 2.45pm” from my husband which roughly translated as “I’m going mad here with the baby and I really don’t want to have to collect the children from school so hurry the hell up.” At the same time my sister opened a picture text from her partner of their son crying into his fish pie. “He doesn’t want to eat. When are you back?”  It seems our time had run out and our services were required again.


One Response to “Enjoy the silence”

  1. tom December 28, 2011 at 3:01 pm #

    I choose to be his confidant
    And to keep him from the fire
    I choose to be quietly discreet
    If that is his desire

    It’s time for tea

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