now, if ever. Not the
greatest fan of the rugrats anyway, all those sticky fingerprints
over my work. And my wife’s a busy woman. Thank heavens one of us
is bringing in the cash. When she’s home it’s mostly work stuff
she’s doing, hogging up my computer ;). I know, I know… boo hoo,
me.”
“Yeah, Boyd, my heart
bleeds. Trust me, there are times I’d happily trade lives with
either of you. Just to get the peace to cut my fingernails is hard
enough sometimes.”
“Uh huh, uh huh… or to
trim your nasal hair and moustache… I know… ;)”
And she laughed out
loud, a guttural guffaw, clutching the phone to her chest as if,
although totally alone, to guard the subject of her mirth from
outside eyes.
“So you’ve heard all
about us hairy European girls? Is that why you’re hanging around
with me, to gather up my fluffy tufty scraps, to use them to make
pillows to sell on Etsy? Is that it, hmm… is it?” She giggled as
she typed the words, and stared at the screen, suppressing her
sniggers, waiting for a response, willing it to arrive as the
seconds turned to minutes: six incredibly long minutes.
“Sorry… the dog
demanded attention there, had to let the little fellow out to pee.
Now where was I? Ah yes, your excess of hair. Has this always been
an issue with you or did it only hit as you matured? Please, you
can tell me, I’m a doctor.”
She paused. Was he?
“Are you?”
“Of course not. You
serious? I’m a notorious, in these parts at least, cat burglar, but
instead of stealing jewellery, I prowl the internet searching for
desolate souls to gather up. No, I’m a mechanic. Was. Now I own my
own store, car parts, advice, that kind of thing.”
And with that, several
bits fell into place – his hours, the long weeks, the odd cash
comment he’d made about being the secondary wage earner.
“But back to you and
your fur coat, WG… how come you never shared these hirsute
difficulties with me before? And is it all over your body? I mean,
surely there are bits you can’t see. Do you need someone to check
them out for you?”
Megan paused. She knew
it was madness to get quite this excited by these seemingly casual
exchanges, but she was. She could feel the blood-rush prick sharply
below the surface of the skin around her face, shoulders and neck.
In her worst-case scenario, she was wrong and this was simply some
friendly American guy chatting with her the way he passed the time
of day with the customers who came through his shop, and as a worst
case, well, this was hardly untenable. Again, she took a deep
breath and typed.
“You can trust me when
I say that the fur I do have and choose to keep, I’ll have you
know, is sleek, glossy and incredibly well groomed. If, however,
you find there are bits of me you’d like to inspect, please feel
free to ask, as a refusal, though feasible, is never unkindly
meant.”
“Mum!” Clenching her
teeth and pausing to avoid the growl that threatened to erupt in
response to Becky’s plaintive call, which had ripped into her rare
bubble of solo time, Megan rested the phone down on the couch,
reminded herself that she had been lucky with all her kids and went
to her daughter’s bedroom. Having settled her back down, she walked
up the stairs to the third floor, where Grace lay like a princess
in her pit and waved her away, as if she were a serf, with one hand
while texting with the other, and then peeped in to where Sam lay
still deeply asleep.
The interruption did,
however, offer a pause for thought, and Megan began to question her
blatant flirting with a married man with whom she was connected
only because they played Scrabble and who was most likely being no
more than polite in his banter. At this, her desire to see any
response from him again, ever, shrivelled and she sidetracked,
heading for the kitchen and the solace of tea. At some point, she’d
have the excruciating task of reading his response, but now wasn’t
quite it.
********************
Her
greatest fan of the rugrats anyway, all those sticky fingerprints
over my work. And my wife’s a busy woman. Thank heavens one of us
is bringing in the cash. When she’s home it’s mostly work stuff
she’s doing, hogging up my computer ;). I know, I know… boo hoo,
me.”
“Yeah, Boyd, my heart
bleeds. Trust me, there are times I’d happily trade lives with
either of you. Just to get the peace to cut my fingernails is hard
enough sometimes.”
“Uh huh, uh huh… or to
trim your nasal hair and moustache… I know… ;)”
And she laughed out
loud, a guttural guffaw, clutching the phone to her chest as if,
although totally alone, to guard the subject of her mirth from
outside eyes.
“So you’ve heard all
about us hairy European girls? Is that why you’re hanging around
with me, to gather up my fluffy tufty scraps, to use them to make
pillows to sell on Etsy? Is that it, hmm… is it?” She giggled as
she typed the words, and stared at the screen, suppressing her
sniggers, waiting for a response, willing it to arrive as the
seconds turned to minutes: six incredibly long minutes.
“Sorry… the dog
demanded attention there, had to let the little fellow out to pee.
Now where was I? Ah yes, your excess of hair. Has this always been
an issue with you or did it only hit as you matured? Please, you
can tell me, I’m a doctor.”
She paused. Was he?
“Are you?”
“Of course not. You
serious? I’m a notorious, in these parts at least, cat burglar, but
instead of stealing jewellery, I prowl the internet searching for
desolate souls to gather up. No, I’m a mechanic. Was. Now I own my
own store, car parts, advice, that kind of thing.”
And with that, several
bits fell into place – his hours, the long weeks, the odd cash
comment he’d made about being the secondary wage earner.
“But back to you and
your fur coat, WG… how come you never shared these hirsute
difficulties with me before? And is it all over your body? I mean,
surely there are bits you can’t see. Do you need someone to check
them out for you?”
Megan paused. She knew
it was madness to get quite this excited by these seemingly casual
exchanges, but she was. She could feel the blood-rush prick sharply
below the surface of the skin around her face, shoulders and neck.
In her worst-case scenario, she was wrong and this was simply some
friendly American guy chatting with her the way he passed the time
of day with the customers who came through his shop, and as a worst
case, well, this was hardly untenable. Again, she took a deep
breath and typed.
“You can trust me when
I say that the fur I do have and choose to keep, I’ll have you
know, is sleek, glossy and incredibly well groomed. If, however,
you find there are bits of me you’d like to inspect, please feel
free to ask, as a refusal, though feasible, is never unkindly
meant.”
“Mum!” Clenching her
teeth and pausing to avoid the growl that threatened to erupt in
response to Becky’s plaintive call, which had ripped into her rare
bubble of solo time, Megan rested the phone down on the couch,
reminded herself that she had been lucky with all her kids and went
to her daughter’s bedroom. Having settled her back down, she walked
up the stairs to the third floor, where Grace lay like a princess
in her pit and waved her away, as if she were a serf, with one hand
while texting with the other, and then peeped in to where Sam lay
still deeply asleep.
The interruption did,
however, offer a pause for thought, and Megan began to question her
blatant flirting with a married man with whom she was connected
only because they played Scrabble and who was most likely being no
more than polite in his banter. At this, her desire to see any
response from him again, ever, shrivelled and she sidetracked,
heading for the kitchen and the solace of tea. At some point, she’d
have the excruciating task of reading his response, but now wasn’t
quite it.
********************
Her
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