Dementia - need I say more?

Dementia...scourge of our time.

Good afternoon to you! It's been a few weeks and, after some deliberation, I am going to tell you why I haven't  blogged my usua...

Saturday, 11 January 2014

Chapter 2 - Part 2


Delftware, as found on Isa's windowsill



Chapter 2 – Part 2

“Why don’t you look on the Internet?” said Ellen.
 “On the Internet? Look for what?” 
Ellen took another handful of Macadamia nuts and crunched them away noisily. 
“Guys. You know, dating sites.” 
Isa nearly choked on her wine. 
“Are you mad? I’m fifty-three!” 
“So? It’s not as if you’re past it! You look okay. In fact, you look great! Lush, voluptuous...” 
“Over-weight you mean.” 
“No, I mean attractive. You may not see it yourself, but you still get stared at, Isa. You can still pull, girl! But you’ll have to make a bit of an effort. You’ve let yourself go a bit.”
 “Gee, thanks, girlfriend!” 
Ellen had to ward off a well-aimed black olive.
 “Seriously, Isa. Paint your nails, go see your beautician, get your hair done, better still, let’s go to that spa we talked about. We could...”
 “You are a raving lunatic! Besides, I don’t have the money to go to a spa. Or go to a beautician. I have to live on one salary now, remember? And I have no, absolutely no inclination to ‘pull’, as you so charmingly put it. I have done my pulling. My pulling days are over.” 

With heated cheeks and flashing eyes, Isa did indeed look sexy. If only she could see it herself, thought Ellen. She watched her friend, critically trying to see her with fresh eyes, and noted the good teeth, generous mouth, shapely legs, elegant hands, creamy skin and ample boobs.
 “You’ll get awfully lonely.”
 “Why?” Isa got up to get the wine out of the fridge. 
“Why would I get lonely?” she persisted as she returned, stumbled over a cushion on the floor and splashed a wave of Ellen’s wine down her friend’s new shirt. (Copyright Renée Koopman – If you steal this, you are a very bad person!) 
“Shit! Sorry, El. I have no time to get lonely. I see approximately three customers a week, all of them with their issues, and their quirks, and let’s not forget their egos! I talk to my darling daughters. I have my cat. I have you.” 
Frowning, Isa slugged back her wine and then shot Ellen a look.
“Fuck, that sounds boring,” she muttered. 
“I rest my case.” 

Ellen looked like Isa’s cat when he had got to the quiche. She loved being right. 
“Okay. First thing’s first. Boot up, Google some sites, write a profile, and then put up your feet and wait for all those gorgeous guys to contact you.” 
Isa blew a raspberry. 
“All those old, divorced, freaky, nerdy, mummy’s boys you mean. You know the old saying, don’t you? All the nice men are either gay or still married.” 
“Christ, that IS an old saying, from the Eighties, I’d say. I’m serious, Isa. Do something, or you’ll end up old, grumpy and very alone, mark my words!” 

Isa looked thoughtfully at her oldest friend, and filed away her remarks to be mulled over in the near future, when she was alone. 
“Want a top-up?” she asked instead. 
Ellen looked at her almost full glass, one eyebrow quizzically up, thinking about her childhood friend and her tendency to become quite a bit of a soak. She used to envy Isa. Isa The One Who Has It All, she used to secretly call her. Used-to. Now she felt a bit smug. Her own husband was sitting on her own couch right at this instant, safely watching Eurosport Live. No risk of him straying to greener pastures. Safe, sweet, boring Ben.
 “Oh, what the hell, life is for living, and I’m on my bicycle anyway.”
© Renée Koopman