The Reluctant Housewife or Dorothy Parker Ate My Puppy

"When I got married, I said to my therapist, 'I want to do something creative.' He said, 'Why don't you have a baby?' I hope he's dead now." Joy Behar

Friday, September 02, 2005

Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf and a random old lady

Still warm and lovely in London, although you can detect a slight chill in the air, heralding autumn. I hate the winter: my hands go blue, I shiver convulsively, my lips chap. It's vile.

Am on a mission to find the VSH cassette of Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf with Burton & Taylor but Virgin don't stock it. Am loathe to use Amazon as our friendly neighbourhood part-time postman delivers my mail to the flats surrounding mine. Is tedious, and I would hide in a bush to confront him/her but for the lack of bushes and, well, I'd look like an idiot.

Talked to a random old, rather hairy, lady as she waited for the bus next to me. I love strange old ladies who have lost all embarrassment about talking to strangers. We both agreed that the New Orleans disaster was 'bizarre', that lightening is cool but 'only when it's blue', and that roadworks slow down the traffic.

Drinks with Henry and Michael last night. Surely no-one can be as homophobic as Henry and not be attracted to men? Despite his protestations Michael is a good friend of his, and as gay as can be. Henry likes to say things like, 'Good God, you look like a one man gay pride march' in a disparaging tone when he sees him, then stares enviously at his shiny white patent winklepickers as though he had never seen more beautiful shoes.

There is a lump, ever increasing, of unwashed clothes in the corner of the bedroom. I'm hoping there's a run, small creature hiding in there. Perhaps a puppy, or a marmoset. Wouldn't want to disturb it.