Saturday, 21 September 2013

Carefully, quietly she 
unscrewed the top.
Pulling the cushion out, slowly, 
stealthily she poured 
the bleach down the back of the sofa.
Replacing the cushion, returning the bleach to 
the kitchen, Doris' friend stood completely 
unconcerned waiting for 
her to come in from the garden.
They chatted for a while and then she left.

Doris had the feeling something wasn't quite right. 
Walking into the sitting room she soon discovered 
the mysterious way her friend 
had displayed her envy 
of the new three piece suite.

She told me this story many times as a child, showing as she did, the white stain the bleach had caused:  philisophical in her dismay.

'Why did she do it Mum?'

'I honestly don't know, jealous of me getting new furniture perhaps?'

Whether she ever tackled her friend about her show of solidarity I'll never know.

Doris had this effect on women; they didn't like her.  She had everything; a handsome well educated husband, she had married well, she had a job, lovely clothes. She was glamorous and men adored her. That, I think, was where the problem lay.

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