Saturday, February 20, 2010
Why should I fucken apologize? she hisses. I don’t even say sorry to Jim. Under her claret-coloured fringe, the glare is arctic. I shift in my seat. Willing her thick calves into action she rises from the couch. Her heavy dimpled arse wrapped tightly in beige disappears around the corner. They come up by the busload to watch the game and it’s packed to the rafters with beer …. and, she pouts, the fucken government pays for it! My skin crawls. How could she possibly believe this? Speaking to an empty room isn’t normally my style but I press on. I think the apology was about empathy, I offer quietly. Feeling the pain and suffering of others. Bullshit, she jeers from the next room. It’s got fucken nothing to do with me, and it has jack shit to do with Kevin fucken Dudd. Hey Ben, she calls to her brother, are you coming to church in the morning for Ash Wednesday?
How can it be that last night, a few hours after meeting this woman of strong opinion, I’d said to a friend I felt I’d met a soul mate. Clearly my perception needs a make-over.