Wednesday 20 May 2009

How Do I Love Thee

You know when you're over tired and you get the giggles? Sometimes, over the most silliest of things? Well, I get the giggles AND I get the gabs, like one of those ventriloquist dolls (jerky head movements, slow-batting eyelids, mouth that can only go up and down, not side to side - therefore, no grimacing). Blah, blah, blah.

Something Housewife Savant wrote about make-up has caused me to recollect the first 'date' I had with the Machinist, many moons ago, when we were both 15. I had never been asked out before. I'd had a crush on a boy at school, but the most we would do would be to glance at each other, smile and look away as quickly as possible, as we hurried to the next lesson in a different section of the school grounds. That was the total extent of my flirtation. I didn't even know what flirting was and what it entailed. I'm only telling you now, 'cos as a fully grown up person I can think on it and identify it.

Anyway, I had met the Machinist one Friday night, as I waited with my friend for her father to pick us up from the movies. The Machinist had pretended to tie his lace, so that we would have to overtake him. To cut a long story short, he asked us to meet him and his friend the very next day at the local tea-room.

For some reason, my father (Grandpa) had always chosen to rent houses either in the country or on the outskirts of town. I allowed myself time to get ready AND walk into town. Usually, getting ready was a case of washing my face, and brushing my hair. Not on this occasion, though. This was, after all, a date. A date with the most handsome boy in town!

I spent ages on my hair which wouldn't do as it was told. Then I scratched through the dressing table drawers to find some makeup (that I didn't wear), but that my mam (Granny) had brought home from her place of work (an old wares / second hand shop). The makeup was brand new - salvaged from a Chemist shop that had burned down. Mary Quaint makeup.

Mary Quaint!

I dipped my finger into the pot of creamy, pea-green eye-shadow and smeared it on one eyelid, then the other. No eyeliner, no mascara. Just two commando style smears of mushy pea soup, sans ham, on my lids. No looking in the mirror afterwards, either, because had I looked in the mirror, I would have been tempted to re-do my hair.

Troublesome hair...

What to wear? Oh, I almost forgot.... Teresa's pastel green dress (Teresa was almost twice my height). I loved her dress, and seeing as it was rather long, it was an opportunity to wear four-inch platform strappy shoes. Brilliant!

The walk into town was long, hot and blistering, but the lime flavoured milkshake was most refreshing.

As I sat in the cool of the tea room, I thought "I'm going to marry that boy one day".

He must have really loved me back, too. Why else would he wed a highly flushed and blushed, curly haired green dream of a girl?

Let me count the ways...


Housewife Savant said...

I remember Mary Quaint makeup!

This is a great post. You painted a crystal clear and hilarious picture, and made me larf.

But I fear you may have left something out.

I added it to my visualization regardless -- a mouth stained green by the lime mildshake.

So, The Machinist was the most handsome boy in town. What does he recall about his green-come-true?

Milla said...

that was lovely. I did flirting like that - face suffused with red, gulping away like mad and just for a glance. Not programmed to cope with modern ways of straight to cleavage (pillowy flesh indeed!)
Thanks for coming by my blog. I've enjoyed the return trip.

Vivienne @ the V Spot said...

I love this story! So funny (and a little painful) to imagine! It seemed to turn out well for you though!

I have an award for you, please come by and pick it up.


 Table talk amongst our children is and always has been, -  a rabbit warren . We start off in one hole and end up in another -  quick smart....