Last week I went to Four Square with Brian.
We bought milk. Full fat. It’s Christmas, after all.
Coming out of the shop, I witnessed something you rarely see in our neck of the woods.
Exuberant wealth. Loadsa lolly.
Parked at the bottom of the steps, next to the dizzy bay, was a car. Walking towards it, a couple. Tanned. Smiling. Polished. Holding hands.
The car was navy blue with a white leather interior. The man had orange skin and was dripping in gold. His silver fox hair was slicked back. With gel. Not sweat. He looked like Richard Gere in Pretty Woman, only considerably richer and not so squinty and sex-starved.
The woman was tight and tall. Her waist was small. A Gucci bag dangled from her exfoliated elbow.
She flashed me a smile and then glanced pitifully at my milk.
Yuk. Everyone knows udder juice brings on phlegm. Gross…
I looked at Brian. His eyes were fixated on the woman’s mouth. Enchanted by her smile. She giggled at Rich Boy. Her tongue was pink and not at all yellow and fuzzy. She oozed moisture and gloss. Not a sign of a dehydrated prune in sight.
The couple hopped into the car and threw back their heads. The car pulled away. Slowly. Just so those watching could have one last oggle.
Off they went. The wind blowing Richards Tupee. The breeze curling Julia’s lashes.
“That’s my dream car, that is….” Brian said wistfully. He was slouched over like a salty slug. Mesmerized.
“It’s a Bently he…..What I wouldn’t give to drive one of those. I’ve wanted a Bentley my whole life”.
Pfff.
It’s true. For a moment, I had a flash of envy. A moment of ‘I-bet-if-we-owned-that-car-I’d-be-thin-and-blonde-and-only-drink-Kambucha-and-wouldn’t-keep-crying-about-my-dead-parents’.
When I returned home, I looked out of the window. They were clean. Brian’s been on them all week. Through the glass, I saw something that brought about the same envy I’d witnessed in Brian.
My daughter, sitting out in the sunshine. Writing in her journal; Beside her was a cup of tea and a lit joystick (thief). She had her head down and her elbow across the paper. She looked peaceful. Indulged. Calm.
And I was jealous.
“Now that’s the way I’d like to spend every moment of every day”, I said, turning to Brian, who was putting the milk into the fridge that was still dirty because our lazy arse daughter hasn’t cleaned it yet.
Time.
Undisturbed, peaceful, unrushed, unaccounted for, much needed, slow ticking, empty spacing, free falling, non-counted for, time.
I don’t know about you, but I’ll take two hours of that over a spin in dickies throbbing Bentley any day.
Whatever you are doing this holiday season, I wish you peace. I hope that you (and I) get to carve out some precious space in your busy life and give yourself the one thing that every billionaire craves. Time.
But if you do have the spare cash lying around for a Bentley, my address is at the bottom of this email.
Have a wonderful Christmas, glad tidings, and peace on earth.
I love you.
Yours,
Liz x
PS: Don’t forget you can now join me on Patreon. I’ll be sharing photos of Canada. Letting you see my beautiful hydrated skin. Come and say hello. I’d love you to join me. x
PPS: In case you didn’t catch it, here is our latest video podcast, “Farewell. We’re leaving New Zealand‘. In it, we talk about our decision to house-swap with a family of Canadians and everything house-swapping entails. Including getting naked with spiders and facing Christmas without your loved ones.
Thank you for being here. Merry Christmas!
