Sex, lires and videotape
I am hemorrhaging money. The water bill arrived on Saturday causing my eyes to pop out on stalks. An immediate investigation was launched to find out who had been using the stuff recklessly – washing clothes or doing other superfluous activities. I have ornaments around my house cheaper than this liquid gold. It could be a toss up between a set of Ming Vases and a bowl of water on the sideboard. Such an ostentatious display of wealth is sure to draw gasps in all social spheres, “Yes do you like it? Of course money was no obstacle. We’re so rich we even bathe in the stuff, haw haw!” It happened to be pouring with rain on Saturday and if I had had the presence of mind I could have flung the kid’s wading pool onto the verandah and collected enough water to set up a rival enterprise. Competition? Certain companies know when they have you corned like a rat in a trap.
Since I am so faaabulously wealthy, I went for a wee stroll down Makarios Avenue and Stasikratous Street. As I sat in one shop waiting for a pair of boots to appear, my mind drifted to the store music. Once a ‘friend of a friend’ asked me to return a DVD for them. I agreed, only to discover that it was to be returned to ‘Barbarella’s Adult Entertainment Shop.’ With toddler in tow, I managed to get him to stand stock still at the door, rush in and rush out again before the question, “What’s that on the wall Mummy?” came up. It was a similar sensation that flushed over me as I listened to this store’s chosen soundtrack. Not so much ‘parental guidance recommended’, as ‘parent could loose custody of children for exposing them to this.’ I asked the assistant if she was aware that the lyrics were quite… edgy. “Oh the manager chooses the music.” Well that’s ok then.
On Saturday afternoon our post-op, post-crash truck arrived back. Twenty minutes notice and there it was back in its rightful place. “I believe the insurance company told you about the excess?” “Yes.” There was a pause, almost as if he was expecting something. “You give it to me.” Ah ha (I confess, I am an insurance claim virgin). Since I don’t carry any of my stacks of cash with me I offered to give him the money when he came next week to install the last missing part. Amiable chap that he was, he agreed. “Oh and by the way, your clutch doesn’t work. Bye.” I may have to auction off my Tiffany jewelry. I’ll miss that tiara, it goes with everything.
“Another Saturday night and I ain’t got nobody, I got no money but I just got paid,” or so the song goes. Monster’s Ball with Halle Berry getting down and dirty, was playing at our house. That movie is enough to push the Dalai Lama onto Prozac. I had tried to watch it the previous night but it kept getting stuck at a certain part. I took it back, and jovial DVD man Socrates instructed his assistant to try it out on the store player. “Which scene was it?” “Umm… scene 16 I think. But 17 didn’t work either so you probably want to go to that scene… you may not want to play that other scene in here.” I am looking around furtively at this point hoping that a street parade will come marching past, acting as a suitable distraction. The three men in the vicinity did not seem to realise I was a breath away from rigor mortis. “Like I said, you really don’t need to play that scene…” “Is that the one with all the sha…?” “Yes!!! Ah yes. Don’t need to see it again…it’s cool.” Some things are best viewed in the comfort of your own home.
Post movie, I snuggled up with book of the moment, The Kite Runner. It soon became apparent that you do not ‘snuggle up’ with such a book, but use it as a platform for future cognitive therapy sessions. By chapter four I begged the flatmate to hide all sharp objects in the house. The morning’s horoscope had instructed me to stay at home that evening. Cruel Venus move on and stop toying with me, you celestial charlatan.
Being ever the philanthropist I will, in the upcoming week, throw my money at state-owned enterprises, lawyers, health professionals and other needy souls. A friend predicted recently that when the euro comes whistling in (January 2008 by all accounts), there will be rioting in the streets. Why wait?
Now if you’ll excuse me there is a wading pool waiting to be inflated: some of us have businesses to run.
