An alimentary mistake


Lunched today in Berkeley Square. Not as elegant as it sounds – I was sitting on a bench, eating beetroot out of the packet and reading an essay on war. There was a young couple beside me. She – lots of hair and what she thought was an adorable giggle; he – deeply pleased with himself.

I’d managed to block out most of their conversation, but when she asked him to guess what had been alongside his dinner in the fridge last night, I gave up on the essay. A second later, when she answered her own question, I gave up on the beetroot.

‘A stool sample!’ she crowed. ‘Mine!’ There was a pause while he digested this news. You could actually sense him going off her. It was like a slo-mo car wreck. The moment a life changes irreparably. History in the making. She explained the hows and whys (‘It was in the condiment bit, not the main shelf’) while I tried not to shout ‘Nooooooo!’ and dive across the bench, a slapstick save of a toppling vase. Shutupshutupshutup.

I wanted to bellow into her silly, soon-to-be-heartbroken face: no one, NO ONE, is hot enough to carry that off. Why could she not see that? Not see that when he dumps (ha!) her – and he will, soon – his friends will always remember her not as the cute girl with the great hair, but as the minger who kept a turd in the fridge.

She didn’t even get it when the next words out of his mouth, after ‘That’s the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard’, which he repeated about five times, were: ‘I’m going to change your Facebook status. I know your password.’ She giggled, ‘Ooh, you wouldn’t!’ and kept play-shoving him. I wasn’t so sure. You crapped beside his dinner, sweetie. All bets are off.


One Response to “An alimentary mistake”

  1. 1 Park life « Vanessa Harriss's Blog

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