Being Blonde, or, The Lunch Date

For Kenny Mah, because.

Morning text message. I'm half-awake and still drowsy, but reading it makes me smile. We've been wanting to catch up for ages, and today's the day at last, and it -will- happen because we've planned for it and it better, or else...well there's no 'or else'. It is happening, and that's that.

I'm late. Of course I'm late, these days it seems to be a chronic (and unfortunate) trademark. I could cite the bus, or the mosque traffic, but I'll just knuckle down and say that yes, I got out of the house later than expected while seeing to stuff, and my time management needs a lot of work. My brain reminds me you're going to be so hungry given how late it is now. I make a mental note to do better next time.

Next time. I hope there will be a next time anyway.

It rains the minute I get out of the bus, which I should have expected, and stops the minute I get into the LRT station - which I also should have expected. Never mind, I'm there at the agreed meeting point, and there you are, reading (a totally unnecessary purchase, you tell me, but I understand. My bookshelf is testament to this.) I always forget how tall you are till I hug you. Then again, I'm short. It evens out.

So there's that little adventure of the stuck parking ticket, and the impossible maze that's the parking lot exit and a car window that refuses to cooperate winding back up. You try to apologise, but me, I don't mind. It's good to be out of the house, it's good to be not thinking so much about crap, it's good to be with you, and that's all there is to it. I'm an adventure magnet. These are what memories are made of.

Indian food. I love it, so do you, and this is a part of town I've never been in before - even better.

Lunch comes. I talk too much. I always do. Even more so when I get a little nervous, but today, that's not the case. Why am I trying to be sensible and profound when I know I'm nothing of the sort? When I catch myself it's already too late, I've prattled on like a ditz and I think, oh gods, stop being blonde you idiot, this isn't Wicked, you're not Glinda. If this were a date, it'd never get off the ground. You don't seem to mind, for which I'm thankful; your company is relaxing, which is what I badly need right now, and it always is wonderful to catch up with you in person after so many messages, texts, and emails.

There never seems to be enough time to say everything that we want to say. My conversation is like a scratched CD, skipping from place to place to topic to other topic with bewildering speed. I only realise this after we finish lunch. If I'm not blonde, I'm doing a pretty convincing imitation. You carry the conversation as calmly and serenely as a palm-fringed oasis. Gods, I wish I had that sort of poise, something I mentally make note of to learn before I get mistaken for a hyperactive child off medication.

It's days like this I miss, conversations and company like this that I crave desperately when things go awry and when stress levels create their own overwhelming Richter scale. You put things in perspective, and for that I am so grateful. For a few hours at least, the knots in my psyche loosen and unravel, and the world seems much more bearable.

Thank you. Today was a much-needed gift. The next time, I'll be punctual - and less blonde.



Photo credit: Waterfall Yin