Sunday, April 05, 2015
She did all she knew
him to please! Had been an independent businesswoman.
International, as a matter of fact! Enter the right young man.
In the past where one vowed heat, she had laughed, keeping it
casual enough until the next.
Well, she had no time for sexual and emotional depth!--if such
exists and isn't simply invented.
But this new one assumed control, and the independent woman
took orders.
First he dressed her. So, he no longer called her The Crowd.
But she, opting for some solo effect, bought bright accessories,
so he changed the nickname to The Loud.
Then he toned her down overall. But too much!–-so he admitted
by labeling her The Dowd.
What happened to her then formed a local legend: She kept
forgetting things.
Thus, The Cloud!
Well, you'll be pleased to know that The Cloud retained enough
wherewithal to cut HIM loose!
Thus jettisoning, too, the Extraordinary Sex! Uh huh? Terribly
tragic! Yup.
She gave over most of the management of her company to two
sharp young women, and has semi-retired to a crazily rambling
warehouse-y hulk overlooking the raw Pacific near Carmel.
There you'll see her in jeep and jeans, not giving a shit about how
she looks.
Well, you can take Bohemia too far too, but she has a way to go
to rank with her former idiocy.
And a boyfriend after long last! But he's an old fart who loves
the classics, and seeks not to dress, rather educate her.
Oh oh! The same thing really? Nope. This she enjoys tremendously,
reading voraciously, challenging his theories with relish.
Yet...only a few wine bottles short of giving him his Walking Papers, too.
Thence, celibacy will reign a good while, and then?
Makes no difference if you color her The Proud!
Labels: affair, businesswoman, Carmel, dependence, independence, Man on the Flying Trapeze
Sunday, November 03, 2013
Eyes of Murder
The Trio
Renton in the next cubicle has called her E. M., for
Eyes of Murder, but to be fair, Monette's PMS really
didn't seem that more wretched than the usual.
Besides, it proved a mercy that she withdrew
often, grabbing a smoke on the receiving dock.
The boss there, Chancey, hardly noticed her
from far up in his brilliant perch.
Though he had to descend when more than one
truck came in at a time, to move his crew along.
Chancy lived with a strong mother, so knew
the vibrations off of Monette, even when she
didn't talk.
But they finally said something to each other.
And liked what they heard.
Upshot: started going out, would you believe?
Upshot 2: She moved in with him and The Horror.
How could that work?
He has recounted how he withdrew to his mancave
and watched football while they went at it.
It not only proved a draw, but one day he heard
them laughing.
“This is not good news,” he whispered to Greg Gumble
at halftime.
The deal the women decided on was marriage.
No evidence at work now, since neither wore a ring.
Monette proclaiming “I'm not Chancey's property.”
Mom took to calling her Bette, after
Bette Davis, who often graced the screen of
the tiny black and white in her bedroom.
Monette took to crushing cigarettes the histrionic
way Bette did.
Both women decided Chancey isolated too much,
and thus Monette moved her sewing stuff into
his Mancave.
He had to listen on reduced volume, but had
sharp ears, even over the sewing machine chatter.
She spoke to him too often, and he answered in
uh huhs. It all seemed shaping up to a traditional
American marriage.
But Chancey not without his own cards to play.
He schemed to move Mama to a retirement home,
and thus free her bedroom for the sewing crap.
The women trumped him again. They had already
picked out Bide a Bit, and a beaming Mama
was eventually dispatched in a startling cherry
number Monette had designed and sewn.
There the women were jealous and the men,
goats. She loved the attention. Monette phoned
her a few times daily.
Monette got seven orders for dresses there,
and quit the company. The last one, of a Spring
green, was for the mother of the owner of a posh
department store. He was quite miffed she hadn't
chosen from his highest-end rack.
Long story short: He hires Monette.
Shorter: She leaves in two years to open
her own shop with the help of Mama's money.
...
Had been watching Giants-Eagles.
“A man surrounded by strong women. Good or bad?”
asked Dr Packwood Oliver in a commercial.
“Both at once!” answered Chancey, ripping open a bag
of Fritos. “But I never trust faggots with names reversed.”
Labels: Bette Davis, businesswoman, marriage, mother-in-law, PMS, relationship
Sunday, July 28, 2013
Nautical but small
Sending Codes
Jenny chose the fancy pub-hotel online but didn't estimate the travel time well. She was pretty beat when she pulled in with her rental Jaguar.
Roger at the desk intuited her state, and got the room card to her quickly. "But there’s one thing. Your room’s a bit too cozy, but I can give you the adjoining too--for additional twenty?
She accepted, Quite a bargain from the other Roger--a label she whimsically applied since it was her boyfriend's name.
Speaking of... "I hope it’s all right I signed for this.” Roger produced a small brown envelope with a distinct bulge.
Jenny assured him it was. Headed for her suite as the other Roger sent the code for her card to the extra room, and unlocked the door between.
"Waste of a woman!" she overheard drifting from the bar,
but didn't know if it was referring to her or not.
Her initial room was nautical, but small. The additional one was plush, English whore-housey with Belgium soaps.
She showered in the new place, smelling quite
agreeable after.
That slutty half was for lounging in tshirt and shorty
pajama pants. The tshirt was her design she never liked,
so wore it inside out.
But, business. Amid replicate ship’s clock and assorted salty bric-a-brac, she opened the envelope to a box that might have held a bracelet, but contained a flash drive nestled in cotton.
Her Roger had been too exuberantly weird for too long,
so she had employed Mr Dartmerth with his lovely cameras.
The laptop got into the slide show quite expeditiously.
Roger and "Conchita-Rosita" striding hand in hand midst the apes of the Royal Zoo. The name she chose came from a song her father sang.
Another ended “Senoritas with dark and flashing eyes."
Her own filled with tears, which, she reassured herself,
is to be expected.
She went through the remaining ones in shock.
But the last two propelled her into more terminal
despair. Another Jenny. At tennis with him.
Then at an outdoor cafe, her hair seizing the light.
Light itself! Lovely! Another Jenny, a younger...
Had she ordered the scotch? She mused even
in her pain as to how prettily the ice cubes
would turn in the liquor...seeming to turn the liquor...
She hadn't, and now wouldn't. Her Dad would never
say anything like waste of a woman. A cutting thing
like that! He often pronounced “You and your mother,
my two pale English beauties!”
She went to bed under the ship prints, too exhausted
to fear dreaming.
Labels: businesswoman, English, hotel, infidelity, pub
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
Decided Contrast, w/History Thrown In
Sisters
-One sister is warm, all-enveloping. But in a
lovely way, not sticky. Other, Business-a-Go-Go!
-Which do you prefer?
-You need ask?
-Prejudice!
-I suppose. I like being with anyone who
doesn't break my balls. If that's prejudice,
then make the most of it.
Labels: businesswoman, female warmth, prejudice, sexism, sister
