Something of a Dishonest Day

Today was something of a dishonest day. I bunked my train fare, as I normally do, and then went into WHS in Waterloo Station and paid 40p for The Guardian into one of those big money collector bins they have for people who are in too much of a hurry to queue up. I was in no hurry to go anywhere. I never am. But I always use those bins. Normally I only pay 30p but today my conscience got the better of me and I gave them the extra 10p.

I posted a card later in the afternoon. To my dad’s cousin. I think I got the wrong card. The greeting inside indicated it was more for a partner. I only realised this after opening the card, but the newsagent refused to allow me to exchange it.

“I can’t give her this.”
”Buy another one.”
”Can’t I just exchange it?”
“It’s been opened.”
“Look, I can’t send this. The greeting inside is of a sexual nature.”
He took the card and read the greeting. “How is that of a sexual nature?”
“It’s there in the sub text,” I replied as he passed the card onto his wife for her to examine.
“You don’t see something developing at some point in the future between you too?” He asked.
”She’s twenty years older than me.”
”So,” said his wife, piping up; “Joan Collins’ new husband is a good forty five years younger than her.”
“Look,” I said. “She’s my dad’s cousin. A relationship is not on the cards. I’ve only just got back from the east. I’m nowhere near ready for a relationship.”
“The east?”
“Yeah.”
”Did you go out there to find out about yourself?”
”No, I went there to find out about other people,” adding I was the first westerner to go out there in ninety-five years not to wear sandals.
”And what did you learn,” asked the wife.
“I learnt that many people are c***s.”
“We cannot exchange the card,” said the newsagent, appalled by my language.

I reluctantly bought another card. I didn’t have much money left so it was one of those plain ones with no greeting on the inside.

I wrote my message on the left hand side of the card as I always do. It always makes me feel mysterious. No one’s ever commented on that though. But not many people do it. A friend of mine staples his scripts on the top right corner just to be contrary. I like that.

As I wrote the card, I couldn’t help thinking about my dad's cousin's varicose veins. It always happens when I think of her, which isn’t often. I suspect I don't think of her because of the veins. She always had the most terrible legs and I made sure I wrote the card as quickly as I could.

At some point in the last five years I stopped trusting my own saliva when it came to sealing envelopes. I usually travel with scissors and cellotape in my bag, just in case I need to send something off, but today I forgot them.

I sealed the card for my dad’s cousin with my saliva, licking it God knows how many times. By the time I’d sealed the envelope, it looked like a cat had pissed on it. I’m hoping it dries by the time she receives it tomorrow.


© Disappointed of West Egg 2006. Do not reproduce without permission.