This is a little wander through realms of improbability; concerning a confused young man and his interactions with one particular member of female of our species. Of course it is possible that the young lady in question, had just came up with a novel approach to solving the age old problem of "not being noticed" by her intended pray.
My thanks go to SH for her assistance in preparing this improbable tale for posting.
Three Times! A Lady?
Okay, the first time it happened it took me by such surprise that I really didn't take too much notice. Well now, that isn't exactly true; but she came at me from nowhere and to be honest I'm still not sure of what really went down that day.
The second time it happened... well, I figured that it just had to be a case of mistaken identity or something.
But the third time, that a complete stranger walked up to me and slapped me around the face, I really thought that it was about time I had a talk to the lady in question, and found out what her bleeding problem was.
Look okay, the first time I came across her... or rather felt her distain. I was out with the lads on Ronnie's stag do, and their had been highly probable that one of the guys might have taken a verbal liberty or two with the young lady, that she had mistakenly attributed to myself. Consequently -- when I'd regained my senses -- I kind-a took whoever's punishment with a grin, and laughed-it-off best I could.
Well, I have to admit that -- with the quick glance I'd got of her -- I'd observed that she was one very tast... er, desirable looking female. And as the guys were getting a little on the horny side; after we'd visited three of London's less reputable gentlemen's entertainment establishments in quick succession. It seemed obvious to me... highly probable even, that one of the guys might have overstepped the bounds of acceptable behaviour, and said something he shouldn't, if you get my drift.
I'll add, we'd been unceremoniously requested to make ourselves scarce from each club in rather rapid succession. Anyway there we were, discussing which purveyor of intoxicating liquors establishment, we were going to get thrown-out-of next. When suddenly this gorgeous looking brunette strides up to me... and -- without a by-your-leave -- clocks me one, right round the kisser. Much to the amusement of my inebriated mates, I might add. Then, just as quickly as she'd appeared, the woman was gone again. My memory of the remainder of that evening is sort-of shrouded in alcoholic haze, even if my credit card statement assured me that it had been a night I should remember.
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Whatever, several months had passed and I was standing by the exit gate to the passport and customs control area in Heathrow airport one afternoon, when the brunette made her second appearance.
Once again I didn't really see her approach, basically because I was watching out for my sister and her husband's imminent arrival. The brunette was suddenly standing there before me, and then, without uttering a word, she up and clouted me one again. The smack came from nowhere; well, I never saw the bugger coming anyway!
"What got her knickers into such a twist, Toby?" My sister -- who unfortunately had managed to witness that incident -- asked.
"Buggered if I know, Sis! But I think that's the same bird who left that red mark on my face after Ronnie's Stag night."
"So, just what did you do to upset her so much that night?"
"Honest Sis, I told you at the time, I never said a bloody word to her. Shit, it was just like this time; I never even saw her coming, until she ups and clocks me one."
"And you expect me to believe that?"
The expression on my sister's face, informed me that my reputation as 'Mr Nice Guy', had taken somewhat of a knock, in her eyes. I'm not too sure what her in-laws -- who were also travelling with her -- made of the encounter either.
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Okay, several more months passed and then there I was, at a big company do in a flash hotel in town. Every bugger I work with on a daily basis was there, plus all the company top brass, including the big cheese himself, and almost everyone's respective spouses as well. As a company, we were celebrating an extremely successful year and several of us minions were supposed to be receiving presentations of some sort for our valiant efforts on the company's behalf; hopefully big cash bonus's.
This time I actually did spot her coming, but still far too late to take any kind of avoiding action.
"Smack!" my head snapped around like Cassius Clay had just landed me one, and I staggered backwards for a few paces; almost falling over.
Something had to be done about this, I kinda had it figured that the bird had to be either working out at the gym, or something. She appeared to getting far more proficient at landing her slaps with practise. However, I was beginning to get just a little bit pissed-off that she was forever using my face to practise on.
And besides, she had embarrassed me somewhat, first in front of my friends, then my family and finally in front of my work colleagues
"Just a bloody minute miss?" I said chasing after her and taking firm hold of her arm as she tried to make her usual smart get away. "What in heaven's name was all that in aid of?"
She turned and looked me directly in the eye; boy, could I see that there was real contempt in her expression. But before she or I had the chance to say anything much else, my department manager -- one John Hewlett, an arse-kisser extraordinaire whom I was not particularly fond of -- was on the scene.
"Toby, unhand Miss Wendy this instant. How dare you touch Miss Montague in such a manner?" Hewlett demanded.
"But she just..." I tried to explain.
But Hewlett wasn't in listening mode.
"Toby, I'm disappointed in you, you do not manhandle young ladies like that; especially the new chairman's daughter. Well, not in my presence you don't anyway!"
"John, she just slapped me around the face for no reason whatsoever."
"Oh don't talk rubbish lad. What did you say to upset her?"
"Nothing, I've never spoken to the girl in my life before. She just upped and smacked me one."
"Don't give me that sh... rubbish, boy! Nice young ladies don't go around striking people without just cause. Most likely you said something out of turn. Your trouble is young man, that you are far too headstrong; I've warned you about that it the past. God, you'll be lucky if Mr Montague doesn't demand that you're contract is terminated over this! I've got a good mind to terminate it myself anyway."
Now up to a point, John Hewlett was right; I am naturally headstrong. I'm a decision maker, and that's what had made me so successful in my job. Whereas, some of my colleagues tend to procrastinate, rather than commit the company to any particular course of action; I don't beat around the bush. I make snap decisions on the information that's available at the time and usually they turn out to be correct. Of course I'd have studied every angle anyway and consequently I've usually prepared for almost anything that goes down. That was the main reason I'd risen to number two in the department at such a young age, hard work and preparation, whilst the rest of the guys were wittering away to one another
Headstrong I might be, but something that I have never been, is short tempered. Unfortunately everyman has his breaking point though.
This Wendy bird striking and embarrassing me in front of my peers on three separate occasions -- and without any reason that I was aware off -- had pushed my self-control to the extreme limit.
John Hewlett -- never my favourite person, who had regularly taken the credit for my hard work -- stepping into the fray and making threats of dismissal, was the proverbial straw that broke the Camel's back.
"You can stuff your effing contract right up your bleeding arse." I found myself replying. "This ain't the only company in the world!"
With those words I found myself heading out of the hotel's reception room, alone. None of the other guys dared come after me to try and calm me down. They knew me too well, and they were also scared shitless of John Hewlett.
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I'm not completely sure of where I went for the rest of the evening. A couple of pubs to start with, I think, and then at least one nightclub; where I could drink until I lost track of everything.
Wherever I went, I somehow managed to get home safely, and get my mobile phone lifted as well. Well, possibly I just mislaid the thing!
Whatever, sometime during the Sunday afternoon, I was awoken by the telephone; with a headache to rival all others before or since.
"Toby mate, where the fuck did you get too?" A so-called mate from the office asked.
"I dunno Tony, I tied one on a bit."
"Jesus mate, I've been calling you all bloody morning, was there some hell to pay after you done a runner last night. You were supposed to be the number one star of the show, you know?"
"Who gives a shit?"
"Jesus mate, Montague was standing up on the stage singing your praises and telling everyone that you had made the greatest contribution to the company's success this year, and you were a bloody no show. He looked like a real prune when someone told him you'd left earlier."
"Did they also tell him I'd quit?"
"No, I don't think anyone dared. Anyway it was in the heat of the moment; no one believes you meant it."
I told you that I'm a snap decision maker, maybe what I didn't say was that, once I've made a decision, I bloody-well stick with it. Probably that was the reason that I did so well in my job; at work I was decisive and didn't get cold feet later and change my mind.
Regretfully, I hadn't always been as astute when it came to the female of our species and of late had been avoiding emotional involvement with any of them.
