Easy As Falling Off A Bike pt 1727

The Daily Dormouse.
(aka Bike)
Part 1727
by Angharad

Copyright © 2012 Angharad
All Rights Reserved.
  
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When Simon came home I told him about the website and he just shrugged. “At least they’re posting nice things about you.”

“But they should have asked me first.”

“Not sure that’s actually true, they’ve just collected stuff from other sites and put it all together–it’s all already in the public domain. You have an admirer, shouldn’t it be me who’s worried?”

“You? It’s all about me, so why should you be worried?” I didn’t understand his argument one bit.

“Well, you’re my wife, if I have competition out there for your attention, then I should be the one to worry, not you.”

“But you know I wouldn’t do anything with anyone else.”

“Except Gareth,” he quipped.

“Yeah, okay, except Gareth,” I agreed–that should serve him right, “Who just so happens to be marrying my sister in law.”

“So, when has that stopped adulterers?”

“Not being one, I wouldn’t know.”

“So it’s me who has to worry, not you?”

“Simon, it’s not you who is exposed out there like I was standing on a street corner in my underwear.”

“Look, babes, all this stuff is already out there,” he was looking at the site on my computer. “So why do you feel so threatened by it?”

“I just do, it feels like someone is watching me. It creeps me out.”

There was rap on my study door. “I’ve sent emails asking them to take it down,” declared Sammi, “Oh, hi, Dad,” she was gone before he could react.

“Did she just say what I think she just said?” he asked turning a lovely puce colour.

“Yes, Dad,” I sniggered.

“Should I say something?” now he looked perplexed.

“No, Dad.”

“Cut it out.”

“Why, because it makes you feel uncomfortable?”

He looked at me for a moment. “Only ’cos I’m not used to it from her, that’s all.”

“That’s how I feel about the website.”

“D’you let her call you mother?”

“Yes, it’s no biggie.”

“Hmm, at this rate half the women in Portsmouth are going to be calling me dad–it makes me look somewhat profligate.”

“Promiscuous, perhaps?”

“Yeah, that too.”

“It’s peculiar isn’t it what makes us feel uncomfortable?”

“Well, let’s face it, I’m barely old enough to be biologically capable of fathering someone her age.”

“I’m younger than you, Simon, if you hadn’t forgotten in your dotage. It doesn’t faze me.”

“Yeah, but in public–what will people say?”

“I’ve been outed as transsexual, you think this is important?”

“Yeah, but I haven’t.”

“No, just as banker who got it wrong.”

“That’s a bit below the belt isn’t it?”

“They haven’t said the same about me, have they?”

“No, because it wouldn’t be true, would it?”

“No it wouldn’t.”

“What’s for dinner?”

“Coq au vin.”

“Let’s eat then, I’m starving.”

“Oh shit, the vegetables...” I dashed from the study into the kitchen only to find someone had turned them down to keep warm. I sighed in relief and turned off the gas. Ten minutes later we were eating.

“I wish someone would find me interesting enough to do a website about me,” sighed Julie.

“When you have your own salon, you can get a website then,” I suggested.

“Actually, you could set one up now–I’ll help you, if you want,” offered Sammi.

“See? Some sisters can be useful,” Julie beamed.

“They cost money,” I quipped.

“Not necessarily,” countered Sammi, who in smiling at Julie missed my daggers look.

“Any luck with the bridesmaid's dresses?” Stella sat opposite me.

“I sent out some queries to several dressmakers, still waiting for responses.” The look she gave me didn’t resemble one who believed me. I could have responded with all sorts of riposts but I didn’t because then we’d have a full blown cat fight which would end with both of us in tears.

I know it’s important to her, but she just dumps stuff in my lap and expects me to do it, and I’m the one who has a job and does the majority of work around the house while she barely copes with two little ones and does very little else.

“If you’d like to clear up, I’ll go and look to see if we have any takers.” I went out of the kitchen as she muttered something about what my last slave died of. I bit my tongue–one more button pushed and I shall stuff her wedding where the sun don’t shine.

I fumed as I walked back to my computer, the nerve of the lazy cow–honestly. Part of me hoped she’d move when she got wed, then she’d understand a bit more about reality, but Henry would pay for her to have some help.

I opened my emails and found two more rejections–you gotta be joking, was the sentiment expressed. Then, one which looked more interesting. I called the number she gave–a mobile.

“Hello?” said a voice.

“Hello, is that, Sue?”

“Yes, who’s that?”

“Cathy Cameron, I emailed you about some bridesmaid's dresses.”

“Oh yeah, you want to order?”

“I’d love for you to show me some samples and quote me a price?”

“Price, this is for the first of July, innit?”

“Yes.”

“That would mean me an’ my friend working day and night–how many dresses?”

I counted, three youngsters–seven and eight year olds, two eighteen year olds and me.”

“That’s six dresses–yeah?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll do em for three grand plus materials.”

“That was a bit more than I intended to pay,” I suggested knowing she had me by the nose.

“If you can get someone to beat it, use ’em, but watch out ’cos they’ll be Father Christmas and his wife.”

“Okay, you’ve got a deal, when can you come to take measurements?”

“Um, where are you?”

I explained and she offered to come straight over. It was Friday, so I thought the girls would okay to go to bed a bit later, and Julie was here for a change. I agreed for her to visit.

“Aw, Mum, we’re like designing this website,” protested Julie.

“Yeah, and I’m designing bridesmaid's dresses–so when I call you, you come or else.”

“Yeah, sorry–course I will.”

She arrived, that is the dressmaker, half an hour later and we started with the youngsters. They took about ten minutes each as she noted their vitals in her notebook. Then I had Sammi and finally Julie.”

“That’s it,” I sighed sitting down with a cup of tea.

“I thought you said six.”

“How many is that then?”

“Five.”

“Who’ve we missed?”

“Um, you, Mrs Cameron?”

Talk about feel stupid, I think I lost a couple of pounds of fat due to the heat coming off the blush I gave.

She smirked and took my measurements, “You’ve got quite a good figure for your age, Mrs Cameron.”

I was about to thank her when I suddenly realised she thought I was Jules and Sammi’s mother. I was about to correct her when I thought, just let it go.

For the next hour we, that is Stella and I, looked at patterns and discussed colours and fabrics. By the time we’d agreed on both styles and colours, my head was spinning, and soon after she left I decided to go to bed.

“See, when you put your mind to it, you can organise things,” said Stella as she went upstairs, which was just as well because there was murder in my heart.

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