Twisted Knickers

I’m a fairly even-keeled person able to hold my own in most circles.  There is very little that fazes me mainly because I am fairly self-confident (even though when you look at me you would wonder why!) and have a complete belief in myself (that I am a very lovely person).  Of course, all of this may be complete bollocks and I’m probably the bitch from hell but in my own little pink bubble of a world I am queen and I shall bestow my favours on all those that meet with my approval.  Don’t for one minute believe I am vain, I have absolutely no illusions about my beauty, or rather lack of beauty, and the mental image I have of myself in my head no way compares with reality – reality is far worse – but I do believe that a person’s ‘niceness’ shines from within.  I’m a real sucker and con artists flock round me like pigeons round the seed-lady in Trafalgar Square.  Okay, okay, I admit it, I’m naive with a capital N.    For self-confident read stupid.  I am the original gormless smiley twit who will walk into a crowded ballroom full of glittering gowns and jewels wearing a summer frock and wonder why everyone keeps walking away.

The two things that really make me get my knickers in a twist (apart from actually having my knickers on show after a loo break) is first having a long-time friend suddenly tell me they’re gay.  This piece of news was apparently a piece of general knowledge but in my usual unobservant fashion I’d missed all the clues, blatant ones at that, until in the end she’d had to introduce me to her ‘partner’ who I’d just thought of as a flatmate.  Yes, I was that stupid.  After lifting my chin off my chest I struggled to find the most appropriate response.  ‘I didn’t know,’ would have to be chucked on the idiot pile along with ‘why didn’t you tell me’ and ‘do your parents know’.  While she waited for me to find the perfect response (I regret to say I didn’t snap back into normal mode)  in an agony of salf-chastisement because I thought I’d failed her in not noticing, she was getting more and more upset because she thought it actually bothered me.  Let me assure you that we did sort ourselves out.  All this happened when I was eighteen and we slowly drifted apart as childhood friends do.  I have no idea where said friend is, but please, if you’re a friend of mine, don’t tell me anything important in the middle of a shopping queue.

The other time I get seriously flustered is when my mother suddenly turns up where I don’t expect her.  I immediately start checking my attire, my drink (the puritans had nothing on her) and my hair.  I’m in my forties and yet as soon as she’s on the scene I get into a flap, the agitation button has been well and truly activated and I go into defcon three.  I don’t understand it and I hope I grow out of it, although I believe there is only one cure (!).  Again, if you intend inviting my mother to a do I am attending please let me know before hand so I can iron the long-sleeved crinoline, plait my hair and swap the bottle of burgundy for a diet coke.

About Bea Turvey apprentice author and witch

I am a wild-haired author who cannot stop writing. The writing process is not a task for me. It is an extension of myself. When I write, I lose myself as easily as if I slipped into the story for a swim. Writing became a serious part of my life in Decmber of 2009. Unless you're reading this in 2017 it wasn't that long ago, and the bug hit me hard and fast. My first novel, Banished, was published in March 2010 and is available at If you read it, or anything else I've written, I hope you'll post a review and let me know why you liked it - or even why not!
This entry was posted in Writing and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Please Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.