Glass of Water (part four)

I murmured “I didn’t want to come here anyway”.Then it hit me! no god please! Why do you hate me!? I had plastic cutlery, everybody else was using metal, everybody in the entire café was using metal cutlery. I couldn’t see anybody else using plastic, no wait, near the window, someone holding a plastic knife, it was a Child! A child, the shame of this proved too much for me to handle and pushed me over the edge.

I knew then I was definitely the laughing stock of the café.The he-she’s sat next to us were almost doubled up in laughter. And I knew it was about my cutlery mistake. I tried to style it out, by eating my mash and pizza with my hands, but it was too late.Glass of water even mentioned it which just proved to me that everybody in the café was talking about how I had picked up the children’s cutlery to eat my meal.

I looked around the café and waved my plastic knife and fork at people in defence, as a fuck you!Glass of water had done so well not to notice any of my neurotic behaviour, even though all the evidence was clearly there. He was happy twittering on like a sky lark, or a fidgety blue tit, that complete git.He was now on the eleventh story of how his best friend was such a terrible person and such a bad friend. And why they were no longer friends, all the different things this guy had done to him and said, all I lived through in real time, along with the he-she’s at the end of the table who at this point were closer to crying then laughing, as was I.

I was growing rather fond of this ex friend of his, started to really see his point of view.“What was his name again?” I asked“Andrew”Nice name I thought, he sounds like a nice chap, seemed to have more back bone then glass of water. Andrew was probably a tall chap who was probably silent a lot, not a twittering fool. Someone who only spoke when there was something worth saying like,“look, someone’s purse” or “ did you see that fella trip up?”.Andrew would never come to a place like this, always preferring, dark roomy places where you were waited in Restaurants in hotels, nothing too complicated. Somewhere where there were always tables and places to sit with readily available cutlery and shade. I could spend my time thinking up hilarious double entendres, instead of worrying about condiments or seating arrangements.“Do you want your pizza?” he asked“What”“Do you want your pizza?”“No “I said woken from my dream date with Andrew and back to the reality of my café tray date. “No “I said” you eat it, help yourself”.

That pig I thought, stuffing his face eating a whole bowl of rice with salad and now on to my pizza. I despised him.The wind was blowing a gale and the rain was pouring down outside. There was thunder and lightning, even a flash storm that had trapped me here. I began to weigh up my chances of being electrocuted by the storm if I ran out and left the café now.

I realised the risk was probably very high, I was just thinking whether that risk was worth the gamble.Then suddenly a burst of sun from behind the cloud, it was a sign of my freedom. The rain stopped briefly, I had my chance. I had to make my escape. Glass of water and I left the park. He was walking my way to the bus stop, even though I had tried to second guess which way he would walk and choose the most obscure route back in the opposite direction. Somehow that was the quickest way for him to get home, of course.I could mention any subject to glass of water and he would be happy to take the lead in the conversation through moaning about it.

Travel was a good one as was the ins and outs of his bike. As was in fact his job or the last ten birthdays, growing older, being young, blue tack, trees, zebra crossings, London, the gays, Chinese New Year, Tesco, Easter. You name it really.Whatever the subject he came across as a qualified professional moaner on it, I started to nearly like him, but not quite.I could no longer look him in the eye, choosing his right shoulder for comfort or his left shoe or front bike wheel. As we found ourselves walking down Regents Street, me toddling through, him pushing his most hated bike and twittering on about how much he hated Regents Street. I was just busy trying to avoid eye contact. I realised I didn’t even need to be there I was a sound board for him.

He wasn’t taking the blind bit of notice of me anymore, just talking on and on. I could have used the time to pop into a few shops, have a browse around, maybe try a few things on, go for coffee, and see a show. I could have left him at anytime only to rejoin him a bit further down the road, without him ever noticing that I had gone. It did not matter if I was there and talking just as long as he could witter.The English are very good at wittering. In fact I’m sure we invented it, well we invented the word. I’m quite a good witterer myself, moaning is a another very English trait. In my mind a moan has a time and a place called, 6 months after we are married or in a suicide note left behind. Until these situations occur at least put up the pretence of being a fun outgoing person with a lust for life before your true cynical nature can show its ugly face, especially when you have just really met somebody.As I left my date finally I realised that we had both had lucky escapes and had a little laugh about that on the bus ride home.I had to get back to see if anyone had added me to their favourites.