A Stark Raivenne Mad Fat Girl In A Victoria’s Secrets World

A few of my friends will recognize the following event as it actually happened quite some time ago. However, in the hustle and bustle of this holiday season as I found myself in a very similar situation yet again, I have to tell it here just for the amusement – enjoy!

I walked into a local Victoria’s Secret with my best friend. The music coming through the speakers, greets us with various sultry sounding women with descant reprising the equivalent if not necessarily equal musical verse and chapter of how her man has done her wrong, once more, yet again. Because yes, while I’m alone at home, crying my eyes out into yet another gallon of Rocky Road ice cream and popping chocolate truffles like crack, I will want to be wearing hundred-dollar lingerie – but that’s just me.

Actually, that is a moot point. My best friend is the one buying. I’m just tagging along, as the only thing I can truly wear in this establishment is their cologne. For this bastion of beauty designed to adorn the feminine figure with a tempest of frail looking, but delectable lingerie delights had long ago decided that said feminine figures end at a numerical amount somewhat below the number of the ample mold the dear Lord as blessed upon me.

I touch silver links joining together a triangular swatch of silk I first presumed to be an eye patch before I realized it’s actually a thong. I then make the mistake of catching the eye of one of the pretty little sales girls who then swoops upon me like a hawk upon a tit mouse in a national forest park. My best friend, having endured my “I just want to fuck with folks mood” whenever we enter an establishment such as this, had wisely walked away from me knowing nothing good was going to come of this start of a beautiful friendship.

The sales girl wants to know, of course, if she can help me. Her eyebrow locked in that know-it-all “…because you can’t possibly be here making a purchase for yourself!” arch. I barely bite down the first instinct guiding my tongue to say something sweet like “Gain a hundred pounds, live with it for -oh- twenty or so years and come to a place like this – then ask me that question again”. Instead, because I am already bored, I ask if they carry plus sizes. She perked right up informing me (quite enthusiastically I might add), that they carry sizes all the way up to 38F! I smile sweetly, pick-up the nearest 36F I saw and held it up against my ‘numbers’. It was something akin to measuring golf ball against a baseball – but it was enough to wipe the self-satisfied arch off her brow.

Still, the poor, poor child didn’t take the hint and continued to follow me through the store actually answering what ever inane question popped in to my head. I saw a small black thin band of what appeared to be spandex and stretched it a bit. I was actually surprised, as I held it up for the sales girl to the see just as I was about to place it over my hair.

“When did Vicki’s start carrying headbands?” The look of shock on the sales girls face made me stop in mid-air.
“It’s a bandeau bra not a headband.” You’d think the icy coolness dripping of her voice would have stopped me right? Wrong!
“Oh! You mean like a tube top? Cool! Does it come in plus size?” My voice was dripping with as much saccharine as hers dripped glaciers.

I could hear my best friend losing the battle to stifle a laugh from in front of the cashier as she was well aware that I already knew what it was when I picked the damned thing up. The sales girl however, looked like she wanted to club me. I picked up another eye patch that had star-shaped crystals along the band connecting the material at the waist. Can you say ouch?
“Does this blue eye patch scratch?”
My best friend mercifully, for the sales girl anyway, grabbed me by the arm and snatched me out of there. Hey, I did say I was bored, didn’t I?

You know, I just realized I never did get the answer to that scratch question…

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Slice of Life Weekly Story Challenge

 

 

 

 

Slice of Life Weekly Story Challenge

30/30 – 30 | BOO!

My sons rolled their eyes at me as they always did when Halloween comes around.  Luckily, by their viewing at least, I do not go all out transforming the house into a holiday appropriate wonderland as I do for Christmas.  Still, every now and then I get into the I want to carve a pumpkin mood. This was one of those Halloweens were I was in a pumpkin carving, tons of chocolate and other goodies to give away, witches hat wearing mood. Now well into their teens, and knowing they are going to be dragged into it anyway shake their heads as they begrudgingly get into the spirit with me.

Thanks to such cinema sweethearts as Freddy Cruger (Nightmare on Elm Street) and Michael Myers (Halloween) faux bloody masks were de rigueur.  My youngest gets an idea and asks to borrow his father’s full length leather trench coat. Both of us being well aware of his imagination, my eldest and I look at each other part warily, partly with anticipation to see where this is going to go.

My youngest dons the coat and mask, pulls up the hood to the hoodie, grabs the big bowl of candy and when the coast is clear steps outside to stand perfectly still in a corner of the front porch closest to the front door.  He was already six feet tall by this point, thus he cut an imposing figure in the leather and bloody mask.  If any trick-or-treaters want candy, they are going to have to come to the statue to get it.

“Oh this is going to be good!” My eldest grins as we stand by the living room window to watch the scene unfold.  It takes a few minutes, but soon enough there are five or six children standing by the front gate trying to determine whether it is safe to come get the candy just sitting there in the bowl for the taking.  As always with such a group, some poor soul is goaded into being the brave one to investigate.

The little boy opens the gate takes a step in and stops. My youngest does not move a muscle. I cannot see him breathe; nor blink. He is a perfect Halloween statue. The little boy takes a few tentative steps more up the path, but still no movement from the statue. He looks back at his friends who goad him on. He makes his way up the short path to the first step and stops again, trying to gauge the situation. It is taking everything my eldest and I have not to laugh aloud as we watch this unfold.

“Hey, it’s just a statue holding a bowl of candy come up and get some!” The boy yells back to his friends bravely climbing the remaining steps as the friends come running up the pathway.  The boy raises his hand to get candy and the moment his fingers touch…

“RAWRAAAAARGGHHH!”  

The “statue” comes roaring to life and scares the living heck out of the poor child and his friends.  They are screaming, running down the steps and halfway down the pathway, before the combined laughter of my sons and I make them realize they have just been had. My youngest stops laughing long enough to call the boy back and convince them all it is okay to have candy. He gives the other kids a few candies each, but lets the little boy take as much candy as he wants for being the brave one.

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Slice of Life Story Challenge

Slice of Life Story Challenge

It seemed only fair since tomorrow is Halloween, that I have at least one such story for it.
And with this, the only non-fiction story of the set 30/30 set, I miraculously conclude the 30 Stories in 30 Days Challenge on time.  It has been an interesting romp stretching my imaginative path, I hope you’ve enjoyed the stretch. I now return to my irregularly scheduled blogging.

I’ve Got The Look…

All mothers have a certain look in which their children instinctively comprehend to mean  stop and desist NOW.  I do not care how “no mannered”, “fresh”, “no home-trained” et cetera the children may be, all instinctively understand the most powerful wrath short of the Lord Almighty’s is about to reign down upon their little souls and behinds should they continue with the offending activity.

There are the mothers whose look will only work on their own progeny. There are the mothers in which the look not only works on their children,  but other family members’  children and sometimes the neighbors’ children.  And then there are the mothers. Those special mothers who can utilize the look with such force, that even the children of complete strangers will take heed.  It does not happen often, for I realize I have to be in a certain mood and the child involved must have seriously crossed my invisible line of intolerance for it to be at maximum force, but I am definitely among the last group.

That being said, while all mother are capable of that look, not all mothers have the ability or the desire to use to its full potential and that is a shame. Mothers who cannot put the fear of Mom unto their little darlings at a very early age are soon victimized by the tiny terrors they’ve brought forth unto this world.  I ran into one of those unfortunate types this morning.

I heard the mother already pleading with the child the moment the subway doors opened.

“Sweetie won’t you please sit down.”
“You’re going to hurt yourself!”
“Didn’t I say sit down, Sweetie?”
“You’re going to get a pow-pow.”

The mother did not say “Sweetie” I’m using it  instead of the child’s actual name to protect the little hellion more so than the parent.  I also cringe when parents of young children use cutesy names for things. If you are about to discipline your child, the child should fear it. It is not a “pow-pow” it is a “spanking”.  Children do not fear the cute, especially when spoken in that sing-song sugar coated speak most adults reserve just for young children. Sweetie was not that young and I’m guessing having heard such idle threats all his young life, this child was no exception.

I partially read my book, partially listened to my music and partially watched as I sat across from them.   The little boy climbed up and down from the seat, swung on the pole and yelled back at his mother in turns. Several people were giving the mother the stink eye as Sweetie ran among them nearly causing one passenger to spill her coffee and causing another to trip. Mother would apologize, yell at her child, the child would be still for all of two seconds and then the boy was off again.  Even as the train became crowded he still misbehaved, just contained his mini-mayhem to a smaller area.

At some point a woman who had had enough touched Sweetie on the arm and nicely suggested that perhaps the child should sit. Sweetie turned around, screamed at the woman from the top of his lungs on how she is not his mother and hit the woman with the plastic bat he had in his hands.  The mother grabbed the bat from him and apologized to the woman. This was twenty minutes after I first embarked and now even I had had enough. I took off my ear buds and put my iPod and the book I’m reading in my purse and stood just as Sweetie turned around and started to run.   Right on cue Sweetie accidentally ran into me. He spun around and raised his hand as though to hit me and I’m guessing that was the moment it happened.

The Look had made its appearance.

I raised an eyebrow at him and whatever he was thinking about doing, he rethought it as his hand slowly came down to his side.

“Say ‘I’m sorry. Excuse me.’”  I looked down on him.

“I-I’m sorry, excuse me.” He echoed contritely, taking a step back.  I heard someone exclaim “Daaaamn!” as I pointed at the boy and then at the seat next to his mother. Without another word exchanged, he picked up a toy that was on the floor and sat down close to his mother looking at me penitently.  The mother looked at me balefully as though she was about to say something and I looked at her waiting for it.  She thought better of it also, putting a protective arm around Sweetie as I returned to my seat.  There was a small bout of applause as I sat down, put on my iPod and returned to my book. The man sitting next to me looked from me to the kid and back “How’d you do that? And can you please teach my wife?” I just smiled, shrugged and returned to my reading.

A chapter or so later I realized it was still quiet. When I looked across the aisle from me Sweetie was fast asleep. The mother still looked like she wanted to do me bodily harm, but I was not worried about her. A few stops later, she and Sweetie disembarked.

Someday, someone is going to be there when I give some unfortunate soul “The Look” and have his or her cell phone camera ready to capture the moment. Obviously, I have no idea what I look like when I use this unique expression, but it apparently has some mystical power in it and I would really like to see it for myself.

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Slice of Life Story Challenge

Slice of Life Weekly Story Challenge

30/30 – 7 | I Can’t Help It

I stand up on the sofa and look out the window again.

Nope not there. It wasn’t time yet, but I knew that before I climbed up on the sofa. The sofa that Mommie always yells at me and tells me not to get on. My brother, Gregor is at the window showing off again because he doesn’t need a chair to see out of it. He’s waiting for Mommie to come home too, so he can rat on me about the sofa no doubt. I can’t help it if I’m short.

The neighbor next door is playing ball and as usual it rolls in our yard at some point and Gregor starts yelling at kid to get off our lawn. He’s such a meanie-poo sometimes. I ignore him, trying to balance my body on the edge of the sofa. I liked the old sofa better. It had a flat ledge; this one was round, but I knew I could do it. I try again. And again. And again. Meanie-poo turns around just in time to see me not do it again as I fall onto the cushions. I can’t help it if I’m stubborn.

He looks at me and shakes his head about to look out the window again, when we hear it; Mommie’s car pulling onto the driveway. Gregor wants to act like he don’t care that Mommie’s Home, but I do and run for the door. When she opens it, it’s all I can do to not grab her by the legs. I can’t help it if I’m happy.

“Mommie! Mommie! Mommie! Mommie! Mommie!”

“Oh my look look at you! Now there’s a happy girl!”

Gregor is being a good, he walks over and stands next to me. Not able to wait anymore I run to her and she scoops me up in her arms. Mommie scratches him behind the ear because he likes that and tickles my belly because that’s what I like.

“How are my doggies? Were you two good today? Did you miss me?” She asks taking us into the kitchen for treats.

I stick my tongue out at my brother, knowing I was going to get treats first because I was in her arms and I do.

I can’t help it if I’m cute.

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Obviously, a story each day is not going to happen. Life has a way of getting in the way of living sometimes. I have some catching up to do, but I will have all 30 in by the end of the month.

Where’s Tippi Hedren When You Need Her?

As a New Yorker, and I’m sure this holds for most urban dwellers, we take the sightings of the local fauna of squirrels and pigeons that manage to make the minuscule patches of green dotting the vast urban jungle landscape home in stride. It is a tenuous relationship at best. They cannot get rid of us and we cannot get rid of them. The childhood penchant for chasing and on rare catching pigeons is their burden to bear. Walking down the street knowing there are constant invisible concentric circles above our heads and it is a veritable hit or miss crapshoot every time we deign to step outside the door, is ours. These are hazards where both sides of the genus gap take loses as a survival of the fittest raw deal. Still, for the most part there has existed an unspoken, yet generally binding mutual agreement once we humans reach puberty that if we stay out of their way, they will stay out of ours.

The key words being for the most part

I pretty much walk the same path to the train each morning for work. I have an early schedule, so I may see only a handful of people on the streets before I reach the station. Therefore, certain portions of my path can have a gathering of avian. If there are less than ten birds together, I may give a modicum of space to their gathering and not disturb them. This morning, what looked like a platoon of them had gathered, enough that it would have given Alfred Hitchcock pause. There was no going around them. I had no choice but to stake my claim as the higher species. They were going to get out of my way this time, dammit!

I was fully prepared to plow right through them and they must have sensed it as a sizable amount took to flight. I was counting on this, thus I was not surprised by their sudden take off. Nor did the two or three stalwarts who were not leaving their breadcrumbs for anything surprise me. Hard cases exist in all species and I get it. What got me was this one pigeon crossing my path instead of the other way around. Dude was determined he was going thataway and not even this human was deterring him from his chosen path. I actually had to stop short, nearly stumbling, to keep from accidentally punting the flying frack to the tracks of the elevated train platform some fifty yards ahead. I stood there with my arms partially open in a dude seriously? pose. The damned thing had to nerve to cock its head at me in a whaat? stance as it kept going.

“Damn, he could have at least said excuse me.” Was the laughing commentary from a guy who was standing outside and witnessed the whole exchange.

My opinion exactly; the nerve! Apparently this hard case didn’t get the higher species memo.

The Raivenne-0 / The Pigeon-1

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Slice of Life Story Challenge

Slice of Life Story Challenge

Witty Words

I enjoy a wild wit, words well at play
Second guessing what a person did say
A well-placed pun lifts the heaviest day

Double entendres while away the day
Innuendos of course come out to play
Expressions telling more than what they say

“I never know what you’re going to say!”
Will bring forth a smile to me any day
My mind’s a thesaurus at constant play

Witty words at play, I say, make my day

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dVerse Poets Pub | Form For All –  On Trintinas

Summer in the City

Johnny pumps sprinkle water on the kids in its midst
A modern city’s version of a provincial mist
The drifting mist calls, but I somehow resist
Knowing wet clothes aren’t high on my boss’ list
From blocks away I can see the asphalt steam
Summer in the city makes me want to scream

Summer sun blazes down on the street
Feels like my soles are melting off my feet
It’s just 8 AM and I’m sweating from the heat
I’ve got a long day to go and already feeling beat
The humidity making it all the more extreme
Summer in the city makes me want to scream

Perfectly pressed suit of the business woman
Perfectly squashed in the subway sardine can
Hotter than the devil’s cooking pan
Even in the shade I’m catching a tan
Skin feels like jelly oozing through my seam
Summer in the city makes me want to scream

Sweat drips and I can feel the drop of each
Fall to places my fingers simply just can’t reach
Another working Jane, dodging taxi tires’ screech
Adamantly not losing my manners with my speech
The horns, the haze, the heat, it all seems
Summer in the city makes me want to scream

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dVerse Poets Pub | In Summer-y; Dog Days/Zucchini/Poetics

Red Hot & Goofy

Saturday Morning, I am at the train station on my way to a meet up with friends to attend another friend’s wedding. It is summer, it is hot and I am on an elevated track so I have little protection from the sun. A train pulls into the station, but not the train I need, so I simply stay where I am and wait enjoying the one minute of air conditioning through the open door. I see four kids, two boys and two girls, looking out of the train car window. They were between five years of age at the youngest and perhaps eight at the eldest, just being kids. One little boy for some inexplicable reason decided to stick his tongue out at me. I know it was directed at me as there was no one else on the platform close enough to be considered.

Remember, I’m dressed to go to an afternoon wedding. My hair is curled, my make-up done and my jewelry is not sedate, but not flashy. My dress a perfect fit, following my curves to nicely flow around my knees. In other words, it is the perfect party dress, in the perfect party color – red. Not just red, but RED. A red so bright the devil needed shades to see me and by the many compliments I received throughout the day, looked fabulous in it. Fabulous to everyone, except this little upstart that is. So what does any grown 48 year-old woman do in the face of such profound adversity? I did the most mature thing possible – stuck my thumbs in my ears, waved my fingers, did a little dance in place and stuck out my tongue in return of course.

I suppose because I am an adult (hah!), children do not expect such behavior or perhaps because I was wearing sunglasses, the boy didn’t realize I was looking right at them and thought he would get away with his action. Alas, did I see and responded in kind; much to the surprise and delight of the other three kids with him. Knowing my reaction was in relation to his, he shied away embarrassed at being caught. I smiled and waved bye when the train doors closed. They all giggled and returned the wave as the train pulled out of the station.

I enjoy doing the completely unexpected, even with children.

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I’d like to teach the world to sing… the B-52’s?

It started out as a typical weekday morning on the subway coming to work. Me, I’m sitting looking all pretty, yet professional, listening to my iPod as I wait for my station to come up. I have various playlist to match my various music moods. The list for this morning was “Move” as in over 200 songs that make me want to get up and boogie. Since I am on a subway in the middle of rush hour, I manage to restrain the urge to dance down to simple head nods and toe taps as I ride to work.

For those unfamiliar with mass transit subways let me give you a short synopsis of the phenomenon of riding in a subway car during rush hour. Think of nearly 200 people, that you don’t know and thus barely acknowledge, in a crowded space. You mostly ignore the existence all the others around you. Some do it by reading, others by snoozing, others still by listening to music and/or any combination thereof. Other than the collective moans and groans that arise when a train is delayed for whatever reason, unless you are with friends to speak with, there is very little interaction between people on a train. Eye contact on a subway is limited to ensuring you’re not walking into someone, or as a quick form of apology if you accidentally make physical contact with someone. Because even if you take the same train at the same time every day for years, there are maybe only a handful of people you will see on a regular basis enough to recognize them on sight. Even then, the most you may do to acknowledge them is a head nod before closing in on the microcosm of your own personal space again. Now, times that one subway car by the average ten cars that comprises each train. Next, times that by the hundred or so trains, which run during the core span, that is the morning rush hour (roughly 5am to 9am). There are other nuances involved, but welcome to my Monday through Friday. Now you’ll have a better understanding of why the following is of note.

I should note that at this point the train is two-thirds empty, as the majority of passengers have exited at the many stations that come before mine. It’s so empty, I can easily count exactly how many people are in the car. Expert commuters know exactly where to stand on the platform and on the train itself for optimal movement, when entering and exiting a train and I am no exception. As the station where I disembark approaches, I rise. I am not thinking much of it as I half walk, half dance my way to the door that I will need to exit.

I didn’t know I was singing out loud (loud enough to be heard well anyway), until I realized someone has joined in on the song at exactly the right part. Remember, I have on my ear buds. I do not blast my music, so there is no way he can hear the song except by standing next to me and hearing snatches of my singing. I looked to my left and a male, not listening to his own music, is nodding his head in a teasing way to mine as again he comes in right on time with his line of the song telling me to knock a little louder baby (I’m guessing some of you, knowing the song, are smiling right now). So, what’s a girl to do? I comply along with him and the song. He is definitely singing with me, and to make things even more spontaneous and amusing, a woman sitting by the door joins to match my part. In the spirit of the more the merrier, by the time the train reaches the station there are five of us dancing, laughing and belting out the ending parts of the B-52’s Love Shack. Dare I add, much to the horror/amusement of the three other people in the car with us? Hell, they probably thought we were a mini flash mob. It was perfect timing as two of us (the guy who initially joined in and I), left the train just as the song ended, waving our byes to the others and then ourselves as we went our separate ways.

You gotta love the power of a good, upbeat (and wacky), song to break even the most steadfast of nonchalant commuters out of their shells on occasion.

You’re WHAT?!

A Taxing Price

She rides bareback upon the mare,
The sun makes nimbus of her hair,
The glow adds to her beauty fair.
All loudly gasp as they take air,
There’s naught that they can do but stare.

Her men walk with her as she rides
They move as one, in perfect stride
Surrounding her from every side.
She ignores the pleas and chides
Beauty like hers, this she must hide.

As word spreads, more do convene
To spy a sight for from routine
This woman valued as a queen
Has not the vanity to preen,
Just holds her head, high to be seen.

With shock and awe her lord reacts
To her fair skin and hair of flax
And all the garments that she lacks!
But he cannot ignore the facts
He could have stopped this in its tracks
Had he just lowered the damned tax!

Artwork of Lady Godiva

Lady Godiva

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In a silly mood

dVerse Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight Week 48