The woman who made me feel all lesbian and stuff.

I met a woman the other day who changed my perspective on the entire world. My first female crush.  

Let me tell you the story.

It was a dusky, smoky evening. The smell of  my pink Blossom Hill and bloated, farty tradesmen floated about the Wetherspoons on Broad Lane.

I’d gone out with four boys for a friend’s birthday, a male:female ratio I was not previously anticipating, and was failing under the pressure to join in on the “macho” conversation.

After the fourth discussion about gym tactics and how to retain perfectly soft hands irrespective of the weight you PUMP HARD, my eyes were beginning to droop. I pined to join in with those people whom I usually silently mock: the three female, older than necessary, 'dancers' who had found positive euphoria from flapping their bingo wings to 90's classics whilst everyone else sat the hell down in the pub.

A prime example of the saying: just because you can do something, doesn’t mean you should.

Whilst watching the jirating hips of female #1, her muffin top pulsating through the folds in her Jane Norman sequined t-shirt, she suddenly stopped dancing, panting with dog-like enthusiasm and looked somewhat...nervous. A quiver formed in her foot and ran up her leg to her left pitted buttock, visible to the world through her see-thru leggings.  

She had spotted something – something which scared and excited her whilst simultaneously devouring her ability to dance. Something magical. 

I peeled my eyes away from the shudder-inducing thong line under her leggings and looked around in anticipation. What could possibly remove the urge to bootyshake from these wrong-side-of-forty women?

And then I knew.

I felt her before I heard her. Clicking shoes vibrated on the sticky wooden floor. The sound of someone who did not belong here. The sound of... one classy bird.

She tapped her way in unison to 'Don't Call Me Baby', her path progressing ruthlessly towards our table. She was too far away to see clearly so I slipped a look at the dancers. The buttock was still quivering, though the rest of the lady was pretending that all was back to full form and proceeded to waggle her index finger at her long suffering boyfriend whilst mouthing the words: 'y'know I don't belong to you.'

But she couldn't keep my attention for long.

A blue dress came into focus, followed by dark, chocolatey skin. The skin that she had on view was glossed, like someone had poured honey over her, lapping over her décolletage, streaming down her arms, forming thick sweet puddles on the tips of her elegant fingers.

She came close to our table. Even the genuine gym freaks had stopped talking protein at this point and a sensitive silence fell.

She swung streaks of dairy milk hair with a flick of her neck and smiled. We all gormily smiled back, buck-teethed and salavia-ery.

Then, after carefully judging the lack of females and silently noting her affect on the males, who had began tightening their grips on their beers in a hopeless attempt to flex, she stared directly at me with those midnight grey, starry eyes and said:

'ALRIGHT bab, you lot getting f*cking trollied are ya?! We am getting some shots if ya wanna join like?'.

The Birmingham accent that came out of her mouth received the same jaw-slamming shock which would have come if she'd have opened her gob and a big swinging ball sack had popped out.

But my god, she was still magical.

And that is when I had a lesbiany lovely love.

The end. 
 

Cats screw with your brain. Fact.

When I was 14, pubescent and gangly, we got Olly. Olly the cat was fluffy, adorable and when he looked at you, your heart melted like Vienetta in your nan's 35 year old freezer.


Then a few years ago, after Olly's companion died, we got Sophie.


And Sophie is actually out to get me.


Don't get it twisted, she's not violent, and on the outside she looks utterly harmless. Her claws remain firmly in her tiny padded feet and her teeth are only showcased when she yawns, but I can honestly say she is evil.


Why? You ask. Here's why. 


Example #1: The Stare-Glare. 

So here's the scenario. I walk in to my room and clock Sophie.

She'll be on the radiator just maxing and relaxing and I will look at her joyfully. An 'awwww' may even slip out of my mouth.

I will then turn away from her, content with her presence, and sit at my desk, writing or stalking people avidly on Facebook.

But there's no denying it...there is a dark prickly sensation creeping up my back as if someone is watching me....

I flip around as fast as my Argos chair can go, simultaneously thinking of a list of things I can use to attack potential intruder:

1) hairspray;
2) my hair brush;
3) a teaspoon out of my yoghurt pot, definitely left there for a good few days.

However, there is no one there. Just Sophie. 


I chortle to myself and casually glide back round to face the screen, sure in my mind that my darling cat is happily sleeping behind me.


But still, I swear I can feel....

I stop. This is ridiculous.

I turn slowly round on my swivel chair, breathing hard, like I'm expecting a man with a chain-saw to be sweating behind me...

And still, there's just Sophie. But she's not asleep. 

I lock onto her pensive, creepy ass glare and she just stares. Stares. With those slitty little cat eyes. Directly into my soul.

Then I turn the hair dryer on and she shits herself and runs out the room.

Hannah-  1 - Sophie - 0.


Example #2: The Murderer.

I was home alone the other night, minding my own business, watching some programme about penguins and how awesome they are, when Sophie comes in.

But she is not alone.


She walks right up to me, a poor bird in her mouth, gasping at his last breaths, and lays it next to my NAKED feet.

And I SWEAR, I swear she then looked at me and we had AT LEAST six seconds of intense eye contact.



Hannah - 1 - Sophie - 1.



----------------

This is all a power game.

I'm watching you Sophie, don't you worry. I'm watching YOU. 


---------------

The man who was not there.

She had not heard from him in a week but he was everywhere. On a train to Blackpool, Heather spotted him in the next carriage, sat next to a brunette. He’d always said he preferred brunettes. They were sat with their backs to her and she could see the curls in his hair, right at the top of his neck, that she had played with all those times.

His head arched towards the brunette and Heather saw a flash of his cheek. That was his cheek right? The same olive skin, the same indentation in line with his lips, those lips. Heather gripped her seat in anger. He hadn’t bothered to call her but he could hang out with this girl, talk to her, make her laugh? He was wearing a coat that she’d never seen before. So he’s gone shopping too, plenty of time for that, it seemed.  The pain in her chest grew deeper as the curls shifted, the lips motioned to hers, and he leaned in for a kiss. .  

But that profile was not his. No, there was something wrong about his smile afterwards. His mole, the one which she was sure was the shape of a heart, her heart, was not where it should be. 

It was not him. And never would be, no matter how many times Heather tried to mould the picture of Ben in her head to the boy who seemed so very close.

This was a torture that she went through repeatedly. She saw him over six times that day and heard the word 'Greece' at least a dozen. It was like fate was screwing with her head. 

‘Cheers fate, give us a break will ya?’ she muttered.

'Er, hello to Heather?! For fuck's sake stop day dreaming. Have you listened to anything I’ve just said?' 

The eloquent sounds of Alice hit Heather's brain with the subtlety of a mnemonic drill. Heather groaned as they drove past another 'Discover the hidden treasures of Greece' billboard. 

'Y’know you've turned into a right sap since Ben.' Alice continued, undeterred by Heather’s sudden fascination with the ends of her hair, zips on her clothes, anything that was not Alice’s judgemental gaze.

Her friend turned to her. 'Heather seriously, drop it. He's a loser, a fit loser, but still a loser. He wasn't even that interesting when you were actually talking to him. You were always saying how he didn't get your jokes. But I suppose he's only human' 

Heather received a, slightly too hard, dig in the ribs. She moaned, 'is there a point to your bullying, because you do realise I could wang you like a welly if I so desired, Al.'

Her 4’10 friend did not care for threats over her size, and continued with her jack-russel-like bark. 

'All I'm saying is that God, fate, Scientology alien, Allah, whoever the fuck brought you two together may have just got it wrong.'

'Don't start the lectu...'

'Just because you met and talked about books all night does not make you soul mates. I mean, just because he liked the same old boring shit that you like does not mean that you are meant for one another.' 

Heather returned to the window. 'I have to believe it is for some reason, Al, I don't mean to sound like a creepy spinster from a Mariane Keyes’ novel, but surely this, us, what we had, is more than the usual, well,' Heather winced at the phrase, 'holiday fling? It has to be.'

'But maybe not. Maybe you were drunk, maybe it was a hot summer's evening and you’d had too much Sangria’

‘Sangria’s Spanish, Al’

‘Tequilia’

‘Mexican….’

‘Whatever. Maybe it was just the heat of the moment. Maybe it was to stop you nausing over Dave. Maybe it was to just break you two apart.’

Heather winced. Dave, she had not even thought about him in such a long time. The guilt washed over her, permeating her skin and forcing her to flush.

Alice continued.  ‘I mean, let's face it, you've been with tons of people...' 

'....and? Where the hell is this going now?' 

Alice grabbed her by the hand, 'and, Honey you weren't right about any of them. They all started off very sweet and full of potential but when it comes down to it, they were all wankers. So either you are just chronically awful at choosing men...' 

'LOTS of men, it seems' 

'Or' Alice interjected, 'or, you have just done the ground work and have to be patient now' 

'So….what you’re saying is being a slag is the same as building the foundations of a house?' 

'Even though you are being sarcastic here Heather, I think, I think that's exactly what I mean.' 

Heather returned to the window, just as the train slowed into a village and a pub called 'Ben’s Bar' flashed into her vision. 'Such bullshit' she whispered. 

Alice pulled at Heather’s anorak and called her attention. 'My dear darling screwed up slut of a best friend. Like that song, y'know the one, you just have to wait patiently for love, some day it will surely come.'

Alice began a power ballad rendition of 'that song' for the three seconds it took for Heather to reach out and press her hand firmly against her friend's gaping mouth. 

'Ok, no more.' She said.  'I promise, no more Ben. No more waiting for messages, no more moping.' 

'Thank all that's holy! Yo everyone, Hev's stopped being boring! It's a fucking miracle!'

The quiet carriage filled with elderly couples and families glared at Alice’s outburst. She had raised her pale arms above her head, like she was expecting an encore and a round of applause.  

‘It was only to stop you bloody singing’. Heather snapped, but her face soon echoed the infectious smile of her friend’s as the train lunged forward from the station.  ‘Now give me a drink. I think I’ll need it for ‘I love Lance and even though he's prematurely bald and watches too much porn, I'll still marry him’ time tonight.’

Heather took the glass offered to her from their train picnic and raised it, ‘to Lance and Lauren, I suppose’, she exclaimed, half-heartedly.

Alice raised hers to meet: ‘to being single and hanging around with pathetic, needy, hopelessly in love people all weekend’

‘Hear, hear.’ The clink joined the sound of whimpering babies and old, marginally deaf couples shouting names of sandwiches to each other in the carriage.

The wine slipped down her throat easily and a smile pasted itself on Heather's face as she listened to more of Alice's stories. But what she couldn't figure out, no matter how hard she tried, was why the pit of her stomach had turned so very cold.