I Don’t Know Why I Am Telling You This; Just Am
February 19, 2012 § 53 Comments
Yesterday a friend told me about a pretty, blonde but perhaps not enormously interesting friend of hers who had the life. Clever, successful husband, children, beautiful apartment in central London, blah, blah, blah. Husband left her for someone else. She had one or two boyfriends afterwards with whom things didn’t work out, and is now living in the middle of fucking nowhere with a man who, according to my friend, has horizontal teeth and is so bloody boring, one would be embarrassed to call him a friend, let alone a lover.
My Japanese friend rang me this morning to tell me more about her friend whom I mentioned a while back who goes to concerts alone and picks up men in the bar in the intervals.
“Let me tell you,” my friend said, “I don’t understand her. Can you help me to? This is someone who will only drink the best champagne and wear the most luxurious clothes, but she settles for Macdonalds men?!” [I love my friend’s turn of phrase. Macdonalds Men! Marvellous! I can so picture them].
This friend of my friend sounds like a spoilt pain in the arse but I put my friend straight. I said it is inordinately simple. Her friend may be into luxury and be an unspeakable snob re champagne and dizzyingly expensive designer frocks bollocks, but she is still a plankton and plankton, like beggars, cannot afford to be choosers.