Rightwing Bitch

She was absolutely stunning, a refreshing sight for my thirsty eyes. I saw her at a shopping mall. Elegant, slim and gorgeous, I wonder who she was.

For a moment I thought she looked my way - hahhh! hopeful me as usual. But hey, she actually was - yes, she looked my way and smiled at me too, or at least I thought I caught her insipient smile. O mama mia, that Mona Lisa sweetness, I felt utterly rapt. My lucky day but I looked behind me just to be sure. Okayyyyy man, no one else, I was it!

As she thrillingly approached me, I thought she looked somewhat familiar. That elusive memory told me she was someone I had seen before, hmmm, I must have been dreaming, again. But I was beginning to feel uncomfy.

"Hi, KTemoc ... right?"

It was a voice strange to me but a wonderfully melliflous voice, very sexy with just that touch of huskiness I loved ... but that accent, that curl of her lips that contained just a hint of a sneer, and that cock of her beautiful head, were all too familiar - my bloody heart sank, my hopes dashed, my disappointment must have shown because she said next, "You look disappointed to see me."

It was HER - that bloody bitch from my school days - not just any ole bitch but the most right wing bitch I had the misfortune to cross swords with in class. The bloody f***ing clone of Margaret Thatcher.

How in the f***ing world did a scrawny pimpled faced overbearing boring bitch of a scarecrow with a squeeky voice get to become this gorgeous elegant long-legged babe with the sexiest voice I've heard for a long long time? From Jiang Qing to Hsu Fung - the world just ain't fair.

See how she triggered all those f-word from me - believe me, my blood pressure shot through the roof then, and I was straightaway on battle station.

But let it not be said that KTemoc did not rise to the 'socialist' occasion.

"Ahaa! Accusing as usual, Margaret! Who's disappointed? I was desperately searching for a name in the deeper recesses of my subconscious to place you."

That should put her in her place - BTW, Margaret's her real name, and did not refer to Margaret Thatcher, her heroine.

Thick skinned as usual, she replied, "I looked different from our school days, don't I?"

I had a natural instinct with people like her - t'was on the tip of my tongue to lash out and hurt her in the most caustic manner, but I pulled back at the last minute and told myself after a second of inward reflection - what the hell, man, those bitter days were years back in school, ancient history blah blah, no grudges, clean slate, etc, etc

"Well, Margaret, you do dress differently ..." I grudingly conceded, avoiding any reference to her personal looks. I wasn't ever going to admit she looked gorgeous. And when one talked with a bitch like Margaret, one looked carefully for hidden (verbal) daggers and secreted poisonous darts (remarks). I was very wary, I must admit.

"What's this 'Margaret' business, remember you used to yell 'Maggie' at me?" she smiled in the most friendly disarming manner, and added just before I relaxed too much, "But you look the same, dishevelled hair, casual [bitch, bet she meant 'sloppy'], and you even have the shadow of a beard. Still keeping that socialist look?"

My systolic pressure must have jumped up by several millimetres of mercury but hey hey hey KTemoc, I told myself before I retorted angrily, hang on a ding dong minute, you did have dishevelled hair, unshaven face [especially on a Sunday, and it was a Sunday] and you were the most casually dressed bloke in town - the only reason you didn't wear Japanese slippers was because you thought someone might spit on your bare toes [and not accidentally too].

"Yes Maggie, I am still what you used to call a pinko, and do you still keep those posters of Margaret Thatcher, Elizabeth Bathory, and Catherine the Great in your room?" I replied ever so sweetly, making up those personalities [& not that I had ever been in her room, Heavens forbid]

to be continued ........

[part of my stroll down memory lane]