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Non-Fiction
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| Do Not Touch | |
| By SJP | ||||||||||||
| 12 March 2007 | ||||||||||||
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One of a series of articles commenting on single life in London. Two well polished shoes sidled up next to me. Those Italian inspired, well looked after shoes must belong to something worth looking at I thought. I glanced upwards following the line of his well cut, narrow-legged jeans. His slender frame carried a fitting black coat, which looked like it carried an expensive price tag. “Don’t let me down, face” I thought. “You’ve got it all going on” As he ordered an Espresso and two pastries it transpired those Italian shoes belonged to an Italian accent. I studied him as he carefully lifted off the lid and tasted the drink. My eyes averted to his very non-let-down of a face. A day’s worth of dark stubble had collected in precisely all the right places across his chin and cheeks. The steam from the coffee crept up his face creating a mist that clouded his eyes. Unfortunately it was the decision of whether to have banana in my porridge that finally broke me from staring straight at him…probably a good thing as there was potential for dribble. Banana? Banana? Do I want some banana? I looked at the assistant who was waiting impatiently and then to the man, the shoes. Why couldn’t I think? Damn you, assistant! I am having a moment here. A perfect moment, my moment, and whether I want banana in my porridge is not relevant, important or sexy. Reluctantly, I ordered my banana and as I did so those well-polished Italian inspired shoes turned around and sauntered out of the deli. As I collected my banana porridge I couldn’t help wondering where these men come from and where they retreat. Is it possible that a man so impeccably dressed and beautifully crafted by nature’s own hand can only be one of two things – already in love with an equally fabulously crafted woman or just a complete and utter b*stard? Single women who are on a quest for love with a man who makes their palms clammy and their sentences difficult to say should not have to be subject to such immaculate and yet untouchable aesthetics. It seems unjust and inconceivably unfair of Mother Nature to flaunt this type of man in front of us. The indication to the untouchability of these men is clear to a well trained eye. There are metaphorical DO NOT TOUCH signs hanging around the necks of these men. They read one of two things – DO NOT TOUCH – TAKEN or DO NOT TOUCH – DANGER. These creatures of temptation appear everywhere, well placed, when we least expect to see them, in front of single women to make their hearts race and their warning lights flash wildly. Maybe they are sent to us as a pick-me-up, simply there to brighten a grey day. Similar, I suppose to the Chloe handbag in the window of Harrods that I see everyday. I know it will never be mine, but I admire it and it’s beauty pleases me when I afford a glance in it’s direction. It is often difficult to accept the untouchabilty of such beauty. It takes time and since these creatures breeze in and out of our lives in a matter of minutes there is no time for acceptance, only wanton desire as I am ordering porridge. It all seems so natural and I smile to myself as I mutter under my breath in a moment of pretence, “Yes, he’s with me”. But he is not with me; he is on his own probably being a total git or heading back home to romantically appease his girlfriend with pastries. Wherever he heads it appears to be in the opposite direction to my porridge and me. That’s ok though as I don’t care too much for pastries. My banana porridge is a positive step towards my beautifully crafted body that I am currently working on. Perhaps I will sidle up to a man in a deli representing a real life work of art and he will dribble a little as he glances up following the line of my well cut, brand new, Italian inspired Chloe handbag.
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