The lesson learned from purple togs.

What I’ve learned today is that my husband and I should NOT go to the shops together. Because we love one another and want to see the other happy (and neither of us is good with money), we encourage and validate the other’s purchases or choose to buy goodies for one another. It’s not necessarily extravagant purchases, just not totally urgent. Today, for example, I got ‘convinced’ to have new swimmers/togs/bathers (isn’t it interesting the words we use?)So now I have new purple togs. They’re awesome; tankini style; ruched tummy (this is important ☺); built in support for bosom (this is important, too :mrgreen:). I didn’t buy the knickers that matched. Before you freak out that I’m about to cause a scene by taking my class to WetnWild tomorrow with just a top on, I bought shorts instead. That should be obvious really – if I’m going to purchase a top with so much upholstery, why in hell would I wear something so exposing as swimming knickers?!

So, now I have a well upholstered purple top, fantastic purple swimming shorts of a slightly lighter hue. BUT, I’ve recently had a Basal Cell Carcinoma cut from my hand and am therefore much more aware of sun safety. So, now I have a well upholstered top, a concealing bottom AND a half zipped sun shirt in bright blue. But, I have lost my Hamlet ‘Yorick’ hat and I won’t want to wear my sun shirt all day, will I?

So, now I have…top, bottom, spare shirt, hat and bright blue t-shirt.

We were out for about two hours this morning…

So, of course, I also have:

* a new pencil case
* 24 new coloured pencils
* a notebook
* a stationery set with the theme of Hola! and pineapples.

I had reasonable swimmers. Boring, but functional. So, having gone shopping with my husband, I’m completely set for tomorrow’s excursion to WetnWild tomorrow with my Year 11/12 English Communication class. That should be pretty fun – 2 teachers, 20 odd students and a slightly hyperbolic reason for our attendance. We are going there for the purpose of our term’s work on persuasive speeches.

Yes, really. Doesn’t everyone?

Veritas, Eski

Where is the boy I kissed?

Where is the boy I kissed?

I thought to look for him on Facebook, but I didn’t want to spoil his 14 year old beauty. The deep brown eyes and hair; the baby face he hated but we girls sighed over. Never quite as tough as the black-jeaned, long haired big brother and the wannabe metal band boys my parents nicknamed “The blackshirts.” He was beautiful and silent. Probably with fear, but to my 15 year old self, he was mystery personified. We stopped a game of spin-the-bottle once, this beautiful boy and I, simply by playing. Turn for turn, the bottle spun and lips met. Darkness, excess sugar and a tiny bit of Southern Comfort set the mood and he spun and it turned to me. Game over, baby. And we were both babies, really, but for that next 45 minutes I knew nothing but his kiss. Actually, I did know. I knew we’d stopped the game, but I was more proud than concerned. He was gorgeous; he was sexy; and he was safe. And that was all.

Where is the boy I kissed?
Same house. Same friends, almost. Same silly 15 year old me. An older, less safe, less sexy, similarly bedecked young man – for man he was, barely. Not the same sweetness and more driven by lust than wanting to play the game. I was innocent, confident in myself and in romance. Would I like to listen to a new guitar riff in the caravan? Ok. Kiss me. Ok. Where is the boy I kissed? As far as I know, still on his back on a cramped fold down caravan bunk. Just where I left him when I realised I was skin to skin shirtless on his chest as he offered, no, demanded, more. Just two words. Four letters and two letters and, this time, not kiss me. I’d never been so shocked, hurt and angry in my life. And I left, fast. And that was all.

Where is the boy I kissed?

This one is trapped inside a green exercise book in a future my 16 year old self created for him. With me by his side, of course. But he didn’t know about the life I had planned for us. He didn’t know that we were supposed to be looking after 6 children by now. He didn’t know how close I was to saying yes to the same question asked by the manboy before. This one asked more sweetly, more softly, more subtly. But he still asked. He didn’t know how nervous he made me. I guess he didn’t know why I said no. And I didn’t know then, that later, after he stopped asking me, another man asked him. And he said yes. And that was all.

Where is the boy I kissed?

The one who took six months of my none too subtle flirting to realise I liked him. The one who bought me red roses and a pendant to go with my 17 year old birthday outfit to show me he’d realised and reciprocated. Who held my hand through ‘Aladdin’; walked me to his home with our friends who we proceeded to ignore as we kissed on the couch. A lot. The one who patted my back as I cried for no reason. A lot. The one who kissed me despite gross chicken pox. Mine. A lot of them. The one with whom I scrimped – a lot; saved-hardly; screamed; psycho’d and loved. Where is the boy I kissed? He’s here. And that is NOT all.

Where is the boy I kissed? 

There are three. Faces in sequence squishy, soft and scratchy from shaving. I have kissed all of those quickly changing, growing boys for the past 18+ years and I will continue doing it. My boys. My sons.

And that is all.

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And now, as I go to press POST, the nerves rise below my sternum just as they did for the boys I kissed. Not the butterflies in anticipation of sweet lips, but the charging elephants that stir anxious thoughts of your judgement, my friends. 

But as always,

Veritas,

Eski

Honest Romance?

A) I should not stay up til 2 am watching ‘romantic’ movies.
B) Said movies should not call themselves such if the plot involves two people who have been best friends since childhood and have avoided sharing their true feelings for one another almost as long.
C) There are 3 minutes of screen time left and they’re both still teary and un-together. This had better get better fast!
D) Stupid bloody fools! 12 years wasted.
E) Be honest.
F) For goodness sake, get some sleep!
G) Last 14 seconds of movie is kissing; prefaced by the words, “Better late than never.”
H) No.
I) Well, technically, yes. But why?!
J) Am going to watch something more honest, predictable and believable.
K) Like Jumanji.