Pretty Sugar

My ex never liked sugar in her scrambled eggs; she didn't have a sweet tooth and just didn't like sweet eggs. Not that I put an exorbitant amount of sugar in my scrambled eggs. On the bench I had five eggs whisked together with the most useful of utensils, a fork, and I now wanted to add just a mere teaspoon of sugar. My current man wouldn't have any objections to that since his taste buds were attuned to high levels of sugar. 


I went to the cupboard where the sugar was stored and moved aside the jar containing the brown sugar. Looking for the container with the white sugar, I stared incredulously at what I found. I yelled out to my man, my voice filled with annoyance and possibly a bit of anger. 
"What's up, love?", he replied as he walked down the corridor towards the kitchen. His voice wavered slightly with the fear of someone who knows he's in trouble with his girl.
"Why", I paused, holding up in disbelief the container containing a layer of white sugar topped with a layer of brown sugar. "...did you put the brown sugar on top of the white sugar in this container??"
I saw on his face that he knew he was in trouble. As the cogs ticked in his brain, I stared and waited, wondering how he would talk his way out of this one. He pulled his cheeks and lips back into a cheeky smile, his face channelling back to his youth as a sassy young schoolboy who probably got away with a lot more than has been let known. 
"I thought it looked pretty", he replied with that cheeky smile. I couldn't help but laugh. Even as I pushed aside a corner of the brown sugar so that I could get to the white sugar underneath, I couldn't help but giggle. It was such a ridiculous answer that I just had to laugh.
Add one to the count of things he's gotten away with. 

Sunrise, Sunset

When I was in primary school and being shuffled off to piano lessons every week, there was a girl who had her lesson before me who was always smiling. She was several years older than I, but I was always struck by that radiant smile that always graced her face. While concentrating and playing the piano, a frown would always cross my face, but never hers. If she was waiting for someone and began reading a book, a hint of the smile would still be there. Her smile was not fake or forced but it was radiant and she exuded brightness and happiness whenever I saw her. 
I wished I could have been like her, but I felt as if I had little to smile about. Sometimes I did have moments of fun, but otherwise I lived in a melancholy world with few friends and, I felt, nobody who understood me. Even while my age was only single figures I wished, although I didn't understand the concept of suicide, that my life would end each night. In high school, the prayers became regular.
"Let me wake up as a girl", I would plead. "And if not, then don't let me wake up at all."
I guess God doesn't bow to earthly demands and many times I discovered that I lacked the nerve to actually take my own life. It has been the basis of many a comedians routine, but there is actually nothing more devastating to be curled up in tears at the planned site of your own demise, forlorn at the knowledge that not only are you a failure at life but you have failed at something else yet again.
By the time I left university, I decided to try the advice I was constantly given. 
"Cheer up and smile."
"Wake up and smile and everything will be ok."
"Smile and it will make you feel happier."
I suppressed all those unhappy feelings and began to smile. It sort of worked for a while, but years on I found myself out of work and was diagnosed with clinical depression. I guess you can't just ignore your feelings and hope everything will go away. At one of the support groups I cringed every time I heard the phrase "Fake it till you make it". The therapist must have felt my cringing since she didn't much like me either.


Another couple of years later and here I still am. My smile is still here, mostly, but now it is real and it is because I am really happy with myself. I am trying to live my life with integrity and even when I found myself in hospital recently, I had a strange sense of calm. It was as if there was nothing to worry about because I had lived my life the way I needed to. Perhaps it was inappropriate because I discovered that lying in bed smiling during (supposedly) traumatic events may annoy people around you. Barring social convention, I was at peace. 


Sometimes, events in life seem to conspire against you. When hopes, dreams and feelings are crushed it is difficult to smile, especially when tears are streaming down your face. It is difficult to believe in yourself when you question your integrity and the decisions you have made. So the smile fades from my face but I cling desperately to what I have, to what will keep me afloat; hoping that one day, I will find peace again.

Filly's Frolic #18

My cane clicked rhythmically on the footpath as I hobbled past the shops. Carefully turning my head, so as not to induce a dizzy spell, I peered through the doorway of the boutique at the multitude of clothes hanging inside.

"What about this one?", I asked. 

Christine shrugged slightly, replying, "ok". Her tone of voice implied that she would go anywhere I took her, or had she already told me that earlier in the day? Whichever the case, my question was semi-rhetorical and I was already halfway inside the store. This must have been a sort of trial by fire for her considering it was only her second time out in public and the first had been in the hospital visiting me. I had promised that I would take her shopping so that she could finally try something on before buying it and I remember the first time a girlfriend had taken me shopping and how wonderful (and scary) that was. I had a lot of wonderful help in my transition and it was only fair that I pass on the fortune.

Once inside the store, I headed straight for the sale racks, ever the girl seeking a bargain. I noticed Christine ambling up and down the aisles, not really seeming to take a fancy to any of the clothes. More sales racks were situated near the back of the shop and I began shuffling through them. But once again, everything in this store seemed to be made for more slender girls much to my chagrin. I walked away from the rack and saw that Christine was trying to catch my attention. She had found a top and was asking my advice. It was a nice casual top and suited her quite well, so I told her as much. 

"Go try it on", I suggested, nearly commanded, with a smile. She half protested with a reason that I can't remember but that I brushed away by saying that everything would be fine and insisted again that she go try it on. Picking up the item from the rack, she shuffled nervously into the change room.

I ambled outside the change room waiting and casting an eye over the shop to see if there was anything I may have missed. One of the sales assistants was telling the others that she was about to attend a pole dancing class and one of the other assistants began regaling her experiences and stories. I debated whether to go up and ask where they took their classes since it is something I plan to do one day but I decided it might be a bit too early to be asking that. After a while, one of the assistants walked by Christine's change room and knocked on the door asking if everything was ok in there.

"Yes", replied a high pitched, very nervous voice. The assistant and I smiled at each other as she walked back to attend to things at the counter.

 I smiled and I imagined how Christine felt and I remembered a similar incident during my first shopping trip with my girlfriend. 

"Stay here while I go and get a larger size for you", my friend had said. She exited the change room and I began to undress, finally hopping around nervously in my underwear waiting for her to return. 

"Are you ok for sizes in there?", asked a sales assistant as she knocked on my door. I felt the panic rise in my chest since I was still working on my voice and it definitely didn't sound feminine. Yet, remaining silent wouldn't be a good idea either! I took a deep breath and tried to make my voice sound as feminine as possible.

"I'm fine", I replied, cringing at the sound of a mangled male voice.

"Ooh", I heard the assistant exclaim quietly in surprise before walking away. My confidence was really bottoming out and I hopped around more frantically waiting for my friend to return.

Finally, the lock on the door shuffled and the door opened. Christine stepped out sporting the new top. 

"That looks great on you!", I exclaimed approvingly. I admired the top on her as she modelled it hesitantly and I threw a few more compliments to her. We discussed what it could be worn with and with a smile and sense of satisfaction, she decided she would buy it and she almost skipped happily back into the change rooms. I decided I would try on one of those dresses on the sale rack but, inside the change room, it was confirmed that I was definitely not one of the slender girls that these dresses were designed for.

I hung the piece of dolls clothing back on the rack and saw Christine paying for her new top. Handing the bag to her, the sales assistant smiled and wished us both a nice day. My cane tapped rhythmically on the footpath again and I asked Christine how she felt. 

"I really enjoyed that. I'd like to go shopping more often", she replied cheerfully. More of her was out of the closet and now the demon, known as the love of shopping, had also been released. I was proud of her, what she had accomplished and how she had handled herself. There was nothing to do but to celebrate by eating some cake.