HOw Uber Got His Groove Back
I am finally beginning to discover the dying art of self assertion. In an earlier blog I sounded off about F, a friend who treated me shabbily. Or should I say I had allowed myself to be treated shabbily by F. Things are now hunky dory. I played “cold” for a couple of weeks. The penny has dropped. He’s been calling every day this week. I’ve been returning late from work, and last night there was a big bowl of the most scrumptious strawberries and whipped cream to boot, all with the compliments of F.
If only life were that simple. You solve one problem and then create another. Last night a bunch of us were invited to a tedious diplo drinks do in a lavish ambassadorial garden. The sort of thing one grudgingly attends to prove that one is alive. We had agreed to leave the event no later than 8 pm and decided to meet at an anointed spot. I strolled in and mixed till I was ready to drop. Just as the old smile muscles were ready to call it a day, a divine stranger walked up to introduce himself. Let’s call him the Charmer. In the course of conversation, I discovered that the Charmer was Hopelessly Heterosexual (surprise, surprise) but available. I decided to introduce him to my sexy female friend (the Brunette). She was caught unaware and hastily devoured a large fish finger. Licking the mayo off her lips, the Brunette stuck her hand out to the Charmer. For reasons which still elude me, her stiletto shot off and landed in the middle of our “space.” There we were. The unshod Brunette. The Charmer with hand out. That’s when trouble appeared.
“IT’S WELL PAST 8. WE AGREED TO MEET OUTSIDE. WHAT ARE YOU STILL DOING HERE.?” That was M, one of my closest friends. I balked. The Charmer and the Brunette looked at me sympathetically. I muttered something, excused myself and left. Later, outside I said, “You will never address me in that tone of voice in public.” “But you were late.” “Yes, I was fifteen minutes late. You could have whispered something to me instead of embarrassing me.” “You’re too tall to whisper to.” “Heck, I haven’t grown overnight.” I refused to give up. The upshot: a message of apology (or as near to an apology M can give) on my telephone.
So where is this leading to ? To put it mildly, I’ve allowed myself to become a wimp- a doormat of the lowest order. I come from a family of arch-confrontationalists and, as a result, I have developed a phobia of scenes, drama, trauma and whatever else constitutes normal family activity. This has led me to accept behaviour from my closest friends, which really should have been nipped in the bud. There has to be some balance to all this. I do not want to recast myself as the Mother Of All Ball Breakers. On the other hand I think the Day of the Doormat has come to an end. Phew. I feel so much better now.
Ps: I am still working on getting the Charmer and the Brunette together. Watch this space.
If only life were that simple. You solve one problem and then create another. Last night a bunch of us were invited to a tedious diplo drinks do in a lavish ambassadorial garden. The sort of thing one grudgingly attends to prove that one is alive. We had agreed to leave the event no later than 8 pm and decided to meet at an anointed spot. I strolled in and mixed till I was ready to drop. Just as the old smile muscles were ready to call it a day, a divine stranger walked up to introduce himself. Let’s call him the Charmer. In the course of conversation, I discovered that the Charmer was Hopelessly Heterosexual (surprise, surprise) but available. I decided to introduce him to my sexy female friend (the Brunette). She was caught unaware and hastily devoured a large fish finger. Licking the mayo off her lips, the Brunette stuck her hand out to the Charmer. For reasons which still elude me, her stiletto shot off and landed in the middle of our “space.” There we were. The unshod Brunette. The Charmer with hand out. That’s when trouble appeared.
“IT’S WELL PAST 8. WE AGREED TO MEET OUTSIDE. WHAT ARE YOU STILL DOING HERE.?” That was M, one of my closest friends. I balked. The Charmer and the Brunette looked at me sympathetically. I muttered something, excused myself and left. Later, outside I said, “You will never address me in that tone of voice in public.” “But you were late.” “Yes, I was fifteen minutes late. You could have whispered something to me instead of embarrassing me.” “You’re too tall to whisper to.” “Heck, I haven’t grown overnight.” I refused to give up. The upshot: a message of apology (or as near to an apology M can give) on my telephone.
So where is this leading to ? To put it mildly, I’ve allowed myself to become a wimp- a doormat of the lowest order. I come from a family of arch-confrontationalists and, as a result, I have developed a phobia of scenes, drama, trauma and whatever else constitutes normal family activity. This has led me to accept behaviour from my closest friends, which really should have been nipped in the bud. There has to be some balance to all this. I do not want to recast myself as the Mother Of All Ball Breakers. On the other hand I think the Day of the Doormat has come to an end. Phew. I feel so much better now.
Ps: I am still working on getting the Charmer and the Brunette together. Watch this space.
posted by Uber Homme at 2:21 pm
3 Comments:
oooo..ooo... Uber Ball Breaker sounds good... something like Uber Buffy.
;-) seriously, though - it's a good thing that u've made up ure mind not to take shit. I know all about overcompensation - we Leos do it all de time!
you're a Leo and you're not assertive???!
i actually have the opposite problem - i need to learn to be less of an agressive bitch that never takes shit...
livinghigh: well put ! i'm trying not to be a ball breaker ..it soooo...er unsexy.
sarah: when living said "we leos" i think he was referring to himself and others of his star signage. I'm an Aries (with a dreaded birthday tomorrow)...on the cusp if one has to be technical. Do the stars dictate that I remain a doormat ? :)
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