Tuesday, 27 April 2010

Dr Capybara returns

More Belgo-governmental shenanigans in the last 24 hours. I have carefully preserved a wilting spear of asparagus for a further set of vegetable constitutional adventures tomorrow.

In the meantime, I have been talking to Dr Capybara. I am a mess, I can't afford therapy, and I do like to be stamped on repeatedly by those pointy little hooves. Imagine I am on the divan made of pampas grass.

E: So first, this morning, I got to the tram stop with two children and three huge bags and tickets and all manner of crap, and a woman purses her lips and says to me "Excuse me? Your dress is riding up when you carry your bag over your shoulder". And PULLS MY HEM DOWN. It was just like being back in Paris. I bet she was Parisian.

Dr C: Next time you should pull your dress up to the waist and shout "WHAT'S THE MATTER? YOU DON'T LIKE MY VAGINA???"

E: The day was awful. At lunchtime I ate a Quick Mr Softy ice cream on a square of dog shit coated grass overlooking a dual carriageway. That was the high point. Look, here's a picture for light relief in the relentless gloom of this therapy session:

Dr C: Dr C says Mr Softy is not ice cream. Try again. Also, do you have some kind of skin disease the doctor should know about?

E: I like how you refer to yourself in the third person. It gives you gravitas. No, that is an inept, bordering on disastrous, St Tropez Everyday job. In the afternoon I ordered some crap for eldest child's birthday party online. It was very soothing. Especially when I ordered things called "Large eye ball poppers". I went into a sort of reverie at the thought of popping eyeballs.

Dr C: Think of any men you know who need their balls popping.

E: (Long pause). Yes. That's definitely helping. Thank you doctor. Then I took the children to the new bookshop on our street and bought violent, hideous bande dessinées about pirahnas and spiders and god knows what else eating other creatures alive. They made me feel a bit queasy.

Dr C: I diagnose your children as Belgian. And I am bored now. Do you have any actual problems?

E: I am terrified I will never have the courage to do what I want with my life because I am too scared of failure. But more importantly I have a small chicken's arse style wrinkle on the left side of my upper lip. It makes me look really fucking old. Do you have plastic surgery qualifications? Should I get Botox on the chicken's arse? Or would a hoof in the mouth have the same effect?

Dr C: I will refer you to my colleague Dr BushBaby. But you could try cracking a fucking smile once in a while.

E: Are jerboas real, Dr Capybara?

Dr C: Of course they aren't. They are a figment of your sick imagination. Even the name isn't real. TRY HARDER JERBOA. GET YOUR OWN NAME AND STOP FREERIDING ON SERPENTS. If you are pretending to be a serpent, at least have the good sense to try and look slithery.

E: And do Belgians practise tantric sex? The keyword searchers want to know.

Dr C: Dr C does not care to find out. Filthy human habits.

E: Do capybaras get blue waffle? Probably not with all that underwater copulation.

Dr C: You are a hoof's breadth away from getting barred for life from my consulting rooms.

E: Can you tell me a joke?

Dr C: I am sighing heavily here. A capybara walks into a bar. There is a horse at the bar. The capybara kicks it in the shins and walks out again. The end.

E: I feel better already. Thank you doctor.


Knackered Mother said...

Did you have a cry? Did the ice cream help? I haven't bared my legs for YEARS. I am too short for maxi dresses. Oh god, now I'm depressed.

Jaywalker said...

KM - I can't cry, quite. I keep nearly crying and then the panic comes and sits on my chest like a big fat angry tom cat. The ice cream helped a lot though. I don't care what the rodent says. I am too short/pale/oddly shaped for short or long. I have decided not to give a shit. xx

Em said...

You are brave to take it to Dr Capybara. Dodgy advice re. shouting about your vagina though...

I can't go short or long either and, like you, don't give a toss any more. Ha! I go and buy another black/grey dress.

Laurel said...

Don't listen to Dr. C. He is a psychiatrist (? I think?) not a zoologist. Pygmy jerboas DO exist, even if they look strangely like tailed Qberts. If you have difficulty sleeping you should visualize them gently tumbling off scales and count them... one pygmy jerboa, two pygmy jerboas, three .... zzzz... see? so soothing!

Margaret said...

Oh girl, I'm having the major anxiety heebie jeebies lately too the last few weeks. Paralyzingly, agorophobic, Oh god do I have an arthymia? stuff. Fucking April. I'm finally going for therapy Thursday. Ack. And I can't even medicate with ice cream because we're on a low-carb diet. Fucking Atkins.

Your shoes are pretty.

AnonyGay said...

Freewheeling, free-floating anxiety hits every spring - mostly triggered by the thought that because the weather is so beautiful I should be punished for not being outside. It lasts through autumn when the weather turns back to crap so I can resume justifiably my natural hermitude.

I think the Screaming Vagina Attack would work well, and wouldn't particularly stand out on Blvd Anspach - especially near Brico. We'll call it local color. Going to try it now. Without provocation.

Anonymous said...

I think if you'd screamed at the hem woman, you might have felt better. Lost opportunity there! Such people are pure evil. They are exactly how Nazi Germany got started.

Anonymous said...

I think the English are more subtle about the hemline thing. I was in Sainsburys with 15 year old daughter a while ago and a women came up and whispered to us that daughter's knickers were showing. I still don't know how I kept a straight face while thanking her (and pulling skirt down), nor how I waited till we were in the next aisle before collapsing into hysterics. I had said the same thing to daughter before we went out; she on the other hand was bitterly offended. Still is whenever I mention it.

I don't care anymore about the legs/appearance thing either, though in my case it is age related. I think once you are over 50 you become officially invisible - so what does it matter. No one is going to see me anyway. I find it a quite comforting approach to life.

I think you need someone more comforting than Dr C to talk to, though the eyeball thing would cheer me up too. I shall bear it in mind for bad days.

Anonymous said...

Baaaah, i wish i had time to sunbathe my white piglet legs and eat some ice-cream...

Alison Cross said...

You don't have the courage to do what you want to do?

Do you know what it IS you want to do? That's more than half the battle won!

If you KNOW what it is you want to do, speak out - it might not be that hard to achieve?

I mean, if you want to be the prima ballerina at the Kirov, you have well-left it too late, but that aside, I bet you you COULD do just about ANYTHING if you really wanted to. You're so bloody talented.

Come on, spill :-)

As for the hem-tugging woman. I think you should purchase a shaggy black merkin that can be glimpsed just above your hemline, or let your fudd grow au natural. Either option should frighten the fear of God into this harridan the next time she tries to cover up The Vagina.

I do not own a merkin. I am Scottish. I rely on the power of a Bic razor to keep it trimmed up ;-)

Also, instead of kicking the big scary tom cat into a cupboard and supressing him, you could sit with a friend and let that big tom cat of fear out and see what the worst is that you fear?


Ali x

Awhirlinlondon said...

A small wrinkle on the upper lip. Sigh. They appear overnight, don't they? So strange. Think it'd be better if they were a teeny bit more gradual in their arrival - it'd give one time to get used to the idea?

Went to my local chop-shop where I'd sent my husband to have his nails dealt with. First time I'd been there since. The women were all aflutter with excitement - "but your husband is so much younger than you!" (in a sort of "how did you manage it / how odd! kind of way). I smiled weakly. "Actually no, he's a few years older than I am." 4 Vietnamese women expressed what was obviously shock. In case I didn't get it, Amy translated for me. "But he looks much, MUCH younger!!!"

I exaggerate not a whit. It had already been an unspeakable week. Managed to hold the floods until I got home. Am now having a nice glass of cyanide.

lisa in san diego said...

how can you take advice from a creature that was born to be SNUUUUUUGLED within an inch of its life? psychiatrists should be wizened and tweedy.

if it helps [i'm quite sure it does not, it certainly hasn't helped me, but i'm going to say it anyway because i am an essentially anonymous commenter -- OH THE POWER]: every woman i know between the ages of 35 and 45 is going through this. including me. at the very least, you're in fantastic fucking company.