All my adult life I’ve popped into restaurants, cafes, bars without being accompanited by another person. yes, ALONE. Iet out in public alone. Somehow I’d managed to miss that this is not something people easily do.
Then Mr. London Street wrote a blog post encouraging his readership to eat alone. He mentioned that this doesn’t instantly appeal and may be stigmatised. At first I was baffled. What is this stigma? Why would someone not want to eat in a restaurant alone? I thought, poor chap I wonder what is wrong with him to make him think and feel like that. Then his readers comments showed he was describing something they recognised and understood. A shared experience for many, though not all, of them.
If eating alone in restaurants was once difficult for me, I’ve forgotten it. I have noticed how being a lone customer in a restaurant has changed over the decades. In the early 1990′s staff would show me to a seat out of sight, towards the back of the restaurant. As if a woman eating alone in a restaurant was indeed stigmatised. In those days, with my mobile phone, book, and note pad I was happy with good light, good food and some table space for sketching. Now, in the naughties, I am more often seated near the window, as if the sight of a single woman eating in their restaurant is a positive thing. Still happy with my notepad, handheld, book and now with a digital camera.
I drop by Mr. London St‘s blog occassionally because his writing appears to tap into something that his readers empathise with and admire. He lives in Reading town, but not in the same place I live. He often writes things that his commenters empathise with, but I don’t. Consequently, his writing often makes me feel unique, even special.
Excellent.
Everywhere there are uniforms. Uniforms for
- Empowered girliness – high heels, short skirt, proudly displayed cleavage
- IT safe corporateness – khaki cargo pants, branded baggy t-shirt
- London tube commuter - black and grey tailored and ironed outfits
- Healthy person - fleece, neoprene, goretex jackets and bouncy footwear
- Cyclist – lycra overdose, wrap-around glasses, go-faster helmet
- …..
There’s rarely an instruction manual for these uniforms. Working out what’s best is all too much for me. I’ve jumped ship and tend to opt for wearing comfortable clothes that make a token gesture towards the uniforms. Not excelling in displaying any 0ne unifrom, but partially there with all that needs to be conformed-to for social acceptability.
On a good day I’m slightly quirky. More often I exist somewhere in everyone’s experience of visually bland stylessness.
Apart from my hats.
The urban dictionary attributes my singleness to my name:
1) Intellectually attractive woman.
2) Physically attractive woman.
3) Emotonally attractive woman.
4) Attractivve in all 3 major ways, yet not you are condemned to be ‘just friends’
Person A: Oh man, she’s perfect!
Person B: Oh yeah? So are you guys dating ow what?
Person A: Nah man, she’s a total Wendy….ya know?
Person B: suxx0rz 2 b u l4m3r!!!11
Would ‘Person A’ please un-anonymise themselves…
of the office Christmas party
just be myself?
Even here, under a psuedonym where I lace fantasy with fact I still believe that I am myself and can never be anything but myself. How can I be other than myself that I could put effort into just being myself.
Sometimes, even with spectacles, I don’t see
I am marked by a stubborn unwillingness to obey figures of authority such as dictionaries, alarm clocks, and flatware.
Please adjust your balance before commenting.
Thank you.
During a week littered with uncharacteristically fabulous sunshine I’ve been wrecklessly wandering out without a coat or a vest.
Wandering nowhere in particular. Directionless in the garden.
Planting bulbs and border-blooming plants for the summer, digging-up weeds, drinking gallons of well brewed tea and generally admiring the arrival of spring blooms from bulbs and bushes planted last Autumn.
It’s leave from normal work. It’s in my garden.
Its not technically gardening leave.
How silly is that?
Wendy: do your eyelids sweat before you cry?
Wendy: Yes! they do, how did you know?
Wendy: I felt it
Wendy: bizarre
Friend: I didn’t recognise you without a hat
I pulled an emergency beanie from my flight-jacket pocket and placed it on my head
Wendy: does that help?
Friend: Yes, much better
The first in this series of celebrity comparisions drew a similarity with an extremely talented blonde actress, unlike this comparision:
VSTH*: come and look at this
HDA**: ooOOOOOoooo it looks like…. …..um….. …you know…. ……that English girl….
Wendy & VSTH in harmonious silence: ???????
HDA: the one who recently came to America
Wendy: Posh Spice? Married to the soccer player David Beckham?
HDA: yes that’s it, your cut reminds me of hers
VSTH: she wasn’t primed to say that
Wendy: ……..
* Vidal Sassoon Trained Hairdresser
** Hairdressers Assistant
The Daily Mail published this set of pictures of Posh Spice’s recent haircut:
.
smoker: how much weight did you put on when you gave up smoking?
wendy: one ring size, my clothes still fitted.
Question:
“Wendy replies to all my emails and text messages. She even sends some on her own intitiative that aren’t replies, is she harassing me?”
Not intentionally, I’m a bit typeractive. Blog posts, emails & phone texting. If you’re feeling harassed let me know and I’ll deliberately ignore your beautiful self for a pre-specified time 
Luckily “rascally roustabout wraith” is not a phrase that crops up in everyday parlance. I have difficulty saying it out loud. I’m practicing the lip movements. As soon as the opportunity arises I’ll use the phrase. Does anyone know any ghostly seamen?
Noseying on the left
A few weeks ago Candy1 was taken handcuffed from her home by police, strapped into an ambulance. I don’t know why. She seemed perky enough when I talked to her a few days later.
Candy’s husband knocked on my door at midnight to explain they were burgled last week while at work when they left their back door physically open to enable the cats free access.
Noseying on the right
Sipping lemonade in the shade on my stoop. In a neat line four people filed by to view the empty home to my right. Realtor lead the march. Middle-aged mom scurried behind her. Middle-aged dad strode with perky terrier in arms. Gangly late-teen swept the rear. I smiled saying “Hello” trying to catch the eye of each passing person. Maybe the parents didn’t hear me. Gangly did. He gave me a gigantic smile, raised his eyebrows, flashed a glance at his biddies, then smiled back at me while waggling his eyebrows again. This silent acknowledgement of his parents ignoring my greeting was funny, generous and clever. He can live next door.
- psuedonymn for cute asian female neighbor
in the US a ‘fringe’ is called ‘bangs’. Why? Who knows? My lengthy fringe is very fabulous because it
- can hide my substantial nose
- gives a warm orange glow to the world
- is almost as silky as a silk moth’s bot
- has no Split Enz
This is how the world looks from behind my fringe, I’ve squished the camera against my nose to take this photograph:
A draft Wikepedia entry summarises multiple categories of irony. Without knowledge of these categories I used to use them in work and social situations.
From Wikipedia, my emphasis:
“belief in Britain, Australia, and Canada that Americans are unable to understand the use of irony… …there are many Americans who do understand and even use irony regularly… …Americans can be confused by deadpan, ironic comments if they are unaccustomed to double meanings. The unfortunate result is that an American, assuming that what someone says is exactly what they mean, can simply find a visiting Brit rude“
Many = what? more than 10?
Visiting Brit = what? Someone who intends to return to Britain within 90 days?
In the US I have tried to stop using socratic irony at work. It appears more likely to produce misconceptions about my actual knowledge and skills. It gets effective results but I am less likely to be recognised as instrumental in achieving those results. Sadly, I have felt obliged to change my working style to be perceived as effective at work.
Americans taking my comments ‘literally’ in non-work situations has lead to some bizarre, unpublishable, misunderstandings. I perpetuate the likelihood of these misunderstandings by persisting in using irony in non-work contexts. Over 40yrs a spontaneous use of irony has beome an integral part of being Wendy.
Reading the Wikipedia definitions of irony helped me understand why I experience many* Americans as ‘earnest’. I recognise the importance of being earnest. The US readers of this blog that are not anticipating irony should consider that many (more than 10) of my posts are, dead, ironic.
* many = those Americans except the Many (10+?) that understand and use irony.
Masquerading under the technically-fancy name: Cognitive Dissonance. This happened when replying to a work-meeting invite where I
- would go because it will be easy to add value and have work-related fun.
- should not go because it will delay completing stuff I need done by YESTERDAY!
e-mail exchange:
Wendy: I may be able to make this, but its unlikely, better to find a replacement for me. (too difficult to just say ”I can’t be there“)
Colleague: Wendy, there clearly is NO replacement for you :-)
Despite my better judgement and his cute dimples I didn’t propose to this guy. Last time I checked he was married. But then US folks have such a quick marriage dissolution time (90 days?) it’s difficult to track.
I have spent at least 350 days per year in the USA across the last 6 years. I am legally in the USA but I’m not legally recognised as ’resident’ here. Huh?
A US bank gave me a mortgage on a residential property 6 years ago. I have ‘lived’ 6 years in that property as my primary residence. I am legally in the USA but I’m not ‘resident’ here. Excuse me?
I pay taxes and social secuirty to the US government, no other government. I am legally in the USA but I’m not ‘resident’ here. I’m not entitled to any Social Security benefits for my 6 years of payments. I will never be entitled to anything for those 6 years payments to a US government infrastructure.
I have 2 work-permits and one ‘entry visa’ (Greencard Advanced Parole). I’m not really ‘resident’ here. Am I?
I am easily confused.
I am confused.
I am
I
.
In the works canteen today;
checkout gal: “is THAT all for you today?”
Um, should I buy something else? Is she saying I eat too little? What does she mean???
Wendy eats-like-a-bird
UK vacation #15
What were the first words spoken to me from an old friend that I hadn’t seen for 10 years?
Hello?
Good to see you?
You look good?.
No
They were: Why aren’t you fat?
Quickly followed by: how long have you been living in America?
5 years
as we hug he queries again why aren’t you fat?
To this Brit, and many like him, living in America is viewed as just cause for obesity.
Its not easy. I only eat when I’m hungry and no more
Eating is so integrated in the culture of generosity and sharing in America. Giving food is a way to show you care, accepting the food is a way of demonstrating that you appreciate the caring. When I turn-down food Americans look personally slighted and I feel like I’ve delivered an ungracious offence. I can’t justify the refusal by saying Im on a diet because I’m not fat. I would be fat if I accepted all the generous offers of fabulous food that are made to me. Its a difficult and ever-present tension between politeness and personal health.
Wendy (eats like a ‘bird’)
