Bomb of Inspiration
September 3, 2011 § 16 Comments
A couple of nights ago I went to supper with friends and was obviously on a bit of a high because one of them said, can I have some of whatever it is you’re on?
Well, I am not “on” anything, except the odd latte. Optimism, I suppose, about various twinkles, and especially since yesterday early evening when inspiration struck me with the force of a bomb up my arse.
A member of my family, not what I call an immediate, but pretty darn close, is one of those wonderful people in life who has imagination and empathy. A lot of people have these qualities but Janey is also pro-active. These three ingredients combined – which is unusual under one roof, if you get my meaning – render her the adorable and indefatigable exception to my belief that nobody can be arsed to match-make for their plankton friends because they are far too wound up with the wearisome business of their own I’m-all-right-Jack-ness.
Janey is the soul and astonishing beacon amongst (non-existent) match-makers. Boy, do I have stories to tell about her on this score – and will, another day – but just to say, at this point, that she is in a league of her own. Generous parties, she gives, with more available men than any one person has a right to know or, indeed, has known in the history of the world. (I still believe that there are no men, but Janey is fighting a lone battle to try to cure me of this affliction). Merry machinations she goes in for, always of a very sophisticated, generous, efficient – and efficacious – kind. (I’ve lost count of the happy-ever-after partnerships that she has orchestrated; she should go into business). Some people may think a married woman who is trying to get others together is a fuck-off busy-body, bossy, interfering type, and they sneer peevishly and write her off. Janey is not a busy-body, bossy or interfering, just thoughtful. Yes, she is happily married to a dreamboat and they have a team of well-adjusted, charming, brilliant children, but she is not someone about whom to grunt and snarl and to generally resent. Quite the opposite. She is one of my standard-bearers and I love her for many reasons but not least because she is so keen to find the ultimate twinkle for me, and is so pro-active about it.
And she knows Long Shot! That was the bomb which detonated at 16.48 (or thereabouts) yesterday afternoon! More than knows him! Is related to him even more than I am! What had I been ON these past few weeks not to have thought of that? Derrrrrrr!
At 16.49 yesterday afternoon (or thereabouts), I put in the call.
We talked for almost an hour. I said my mother and another significant parent had met him and raved, and I had read his book and foolishly fallen in love with him. Janey told me a lot about him and suggested where there may be some drawbacks. Maverick was a word that sprang to her mind. I don’t have a problem with that; I love Maverick. She hadn’t thought of the LS/Plankton combo before, but, hey, why not? I told her that an immediate of mine – one of my closest female relations (cf. Impossible Cad) – had met her new boyfriend in a bar and once the relationship was up and running and really going somewhere, had asked her friends why they had never thought to introduce them. Turned out they had thought about it for about a minute and rejected the idea. Hadn’t thought she or he would be remotely suited or interested in one another, but how wrong they were! When Janey said that she had not thought of LS and myself, I said that in my position I couldn’t afford to leave any stone unturned. And, while he and I may possibly not seem compatible in some ways on paper, as it were, I had a notion he and I could actually be the very thing. On reflection, Janey agreed. Perhaps it was a case of LS being under her nose (cf. Under My Nose), not for her (obviously) but for me? Then most of the conversation was taken up with a discussion as how best to broach him, and what best to suggest to him and whether to mention my name into the equation.
Supper at her gaffe was mooted, with her, her husband, my best male friend (who knows him; cf. yesterday’s post) his wife; LS and me. Not another plankton in sight, I begged, let alone a pre-plankton (single woman under 35). No competition. I’m crap at that (because I think most women are more attractive than me – even if it’s not always true – so give up. And let’s not beat about the bush, fling my name in, why not, and if he replies saying he’d rather emigrate to the bottom of the fucking ocean than spend an evening with a divorced, middle-aged woman with desperation issues, a certain stench, and a slack cunt on botched legs (not that that is how I really think of myself, before any of you concerned commentators wade in with urgent advice to me to fix my self-esteem!) – well, then maybe he is not the man for me. He may not be anyway, but if he’d just give it a go…? Join us at Janey’s for supper?
“I will send him an email the minute I put down the phone,” she said.
Just minutes later she forwarded to me the most brilliantly-worded email possible that she had, true to her word (rare), sent to him, casually asking if he was around sometime for supper, and with a passing reference to thinking of also asking me, a (distant) family member whom he had never met.
We await his reply.
That’s if he hasn’t already dived to the bottom of the ocean, at the very notion.