Dinner for one

Hello High Heelers,

I feel like a moron today. Well, I pretty much feel like a moron most days. But today I feel like a super-moron. Step aside Wonder Woman, Super-Moron is to the rescue! Did you know that superhero women wear high heeled boots? They do. All of them. They’re magnificent. And I’m not. Sigh! The joys of the single life really can catch up with a High Heeler. So, why the idiot-label and self-pity? Here goes…

As most of you know, I went through getting divorced before I even got married last year. And then more recently, I discovered that my ex-fiancée was Tiger Woods’ clone (without the golf playing, nice bank balance and subsequent high divorce settlement – damn!) And amidst all of this madness I found myself getting wrapped up in something new, romantic-ish and intriguing, as you do. In the excitement of the new ‘friendship’ I bit the proverbial bullet and invited my ‘friend’ over to impress him with my culinary prowess and Wonder Woman skills – yep, I was going to be cooking (meat nogal – I’m a vegetarian) in heels. Bang bang! How impressive is that, right? Phoow!

But my plans went in their own silly direction and shot me in the foot. Those sneaky little things. Sigh! They went like this… I casually invited him over for a Sunday afternoon/evening at mine via message, on Friday (new note to self – casual invite to man = stupid. They need details). He responded that he’d have to shuffle plans, but that he’d be there. This in my language meant that he’d turn up in the afternoon/evening (i.e. 5/6ish). But somehow, a universe-sized, ‘men are from Mars-type’ communication vacuum snuck in between my phone and his, which are technically only separated by a mere five kilometres of urban jungle and numerous highly-effective cellphone reception towers – just saying. And indeed, you all guessed it, didn’t you? I found myself on Sunday evening, ‘all dressed up and nowhere to go’ with a house filled with loneliness and yummy food scents.

Perhaps it’s just me, but I take people by their word. If I say I’ll see you on Saturday at 11:00, at Vovo Telo’s in Lonehill, I’ll be there. No confirmation necessary. Done. This body will be seated at a table at the arranged place, at the arranged time. Or you can slap me silly and call me Susan! Now imagine my disbelief when I went all Martha Stewart on Sunday (starting at 12:30pm, I might add – mostly stated for effect, though it’s the truth) preparing for imminent arrival of said masculine ‘friend’ who did not arrive.

At 4pm, I was a proudly ignorant domestic goddess with wooden spoon in hand, meal cooked, table set, entertainment prepared, frivolous frock on body, perfume wafting from my every pore, shaved legs donning super high heels (despite the cold), with freshly blow-dried hair and perfect make-up. On phone messaging the ‘friend’ to ask him when I could expect him to arrive, he responded an hour later to inform me that he was tired from his afternoon and was off home – he wouldn’t make it this time unfortunately (not even the word ‘sorry’ was thrown in for effect). 

So 5pm, me still in kitchen with heels on, packing food into containers, previously impressed by my wonderfulness and ability to drop my stupid uber-feminist-I-won’t-cook-for-a-man-mentality I felt a little beaten (like with the wooden spoon) and a lot stirred (like as in the opposite of the fabulous James Bond). In fact I was dripping with egg on my face and ego on the floor. I was in a state of horrifiedness (which is now officially a real word). I can only imagine how upset Martha would be. Fair enough. It was my own fault. I clearly misjudged the budding friendship. I set completely unfair expectations without communicating properly. And basically, I am a stupidly idealistic idiot. A disappointed one at that.


What does a meal of utter disappointment taste like? Well, it’s something between dog poo (which in all honesty I actually have never tasted but can imagine quite vividly) and Grampa headache pills (without the painkilling effect). Oh, and it stinks! I haven’t been that disappointed in a while – barring stupid ex-stories which are unfair to use as any comparison in my current or future life. Ever.
The thing is, in this modern world of chaos, over-communication and disruptive mayhem we have stopped sticking to our word because we have so many ways of changing it and getting the new message out within spilt-seconds. We cancel meetings at the last minute. We don’t turn up to big parties when we think that there will be so many people there that we won’t be missed – uh, you were catered for, it’s bad manners to just not pitch. But what’s worse, we say things and then don’t follow through for no reason at all, or we simply forget.

May I encourage you all to be the people who are a little old fashioned this week? (I know Martha approves on this one.) May I suggest that it’s right and proper to manage people’s expectations and do what you say you’re going to do? Stick to your word and speak with meaning. People may continue to disappoint us, High Heelers. But let’s be the consistent ones that stand up, heel up and show up anyway.

Have a wonderful week.


Yours in heels,

Jo

Don't forget to LIKE our FaceBook page - http://www.facebook.com/pages/High-Heelers/193781660675079
And if you really, really like us – send us out across your Social Networking Links – just click the appropriate icon below.