Huh ha!

Parties extend normally longer than they are expected to. You usually miss the part when the hosts begin to keep quiet and wonder how to get this all of a sudden too noisy crowd out. They push the unwashed plates, the remaining food and disarranged stuff forcibly out of their mind. I have done it.

So we were returning from the party. The lipstick remained in traces. Part of it on wine glasses. Partly on people’s cheeks after I’d downed more than necessary. Mostly on the glass I’d say. A girlfriend once told me that you should discreetly lip the side of the glass so that your lipstick doesn’t transfer. That I found terribly undignified. Nowadays non transferable lipsticks are the answer. But I do wonder where it al then goes.

I hope he didn’t count the number of times I switched glasses. I hate this cheating. But I love my peace better.

I worry if my thoughts can be heard by him. I search for a suitable music station. Ah, jazz. I like jazz. I don’t know anything about it but just that I like the sound of it. A friend once told me that you need to understand music to appreciate it and understand it better to love it. I wouldn’t still agree. Jazz makes me feel sophisticated. Mind you, that’s not the only reason I like it, though I have a sneaking suspicion that it counts for a large share.

He finds the music repetitive. But I like jazz.

Se, this is what happens when I have too much to drink. My thoughts shift patterns like my fickle friend. Well, she would change boyfriends more times than… I can’t find the right analogy. But you get what I mean…

His voice is jarring. I wonder how I once found it suave and cultured. I am sucker for such things. Before when we didn’t have so much money, I would walk through stores and find the best bargains. Then I would buy la-di-la labels from the sneaky little Indian guy and sew them on. Like careful little Chinese seamstresses. And make sure that people noticed. Ah, I was once very cunning. These days I am quite out of touch with the general cunning I had. These days, I use it like Chanel no.5. On special occasions, lest he catches on.

‘You don’t laugh at my jokes these days’; his whining voice sounds like an instrument out of tune.

I wait a moment before I laugh uncomfortably.

Apparently, that wasn’t meant to be a joke.