Is my new crush's lament.
Florence and the Machine. Her albums Lungs. All written around mythology and the fact she feels things rather more intensely than your average person. She's like Kate Bush in a cocaine haze and ketamine reverie.
I love her. I listen to her album when I wake up, when I go to sleep and as I walk about my Hong Kong life.
Tonight it was an unusually suitable soundtrack.
I outed my new chopped hair and teamed it with panda print mini dress. I went to the comedy club, with my dear friend and ass kicker, Dora Bootcamp and two Dora Devotees from Pure BodyPump.
Of course, as the four women entering the club late, we were swooped upon. Names and statuses were enquired. Maribee had both husband and boyfriend. Dora had husband and baby. Dada had husband. I was the single one. Which is no cause for lament, particularly when with panda dress, new hair and three new friends.
Jamie, the compere, elegantly pointed out that I was from England. White. Female. And therefore fucked. No white guys would go near me. And neither would the Chinese. I would be staying single for some time.
This could seem harsh. But as a stereotype it is amusing. The joke that all white guys go for Chinese girls. And all Chinese guys are not interested in troublesome gwai mui (lady white ghosts). Is not too many million miles away from the truth. But I have lived other lives. Where I spent time with Asian guys and/or White guys, depending upon my moods at the time. I recall turning down a particularly handsome fellow named George a few years ago, as I was only into Chinese men... We all have our phases and times when one route seems the only way.
Suffice to say. I was not insulted by these comments at all.
It did not make me blush. What did, was a white guy sitting behind me shouting out, 'She's hot!'
This has been my first night 'out' in a few months.
Certainly the first time since my sobriety experiment began.
I glowed back to the ferry. Where the 11.30pm was awaiting me. The passengers were suitably relaxed and I had the joys of comments about how fabulous my new look was and how well I looked.
This may sound like my crowning Narcissus moment, due to end in my falling desperately in love with my reflection where I shall surely perish. But this is not my tale, to disdain those who love me and be punished by the Gods with the same treatment.
In the words of Florence
"Here I am, a rabbit hearted girl
Frozen in the headlights...
I wish that I could just be brave
I must become a lion hearted girl"
All very Lewis Caroll I admit
But when my life is turning beautiful
I tend to make exceptionally erroneous choices with my heart
And am determined to be less rabbit and my lion on this occasion!
Rooooaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrr
*twitchy nose*
xx
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