The Prick of the Voodoo

My Virtual Darling

When we first met in the public chatroom there were a number of other regulars in the room as well. There was “School Marm” from Michigan, “JJ Anyway” from Florida, “Huggsy Bear” from who knows where and of course there was “Track Mamma” from Texas.

We were quite the little community and as we got to know one another many of us met in real life. It was a lot easier for you guys who were at least on the same continent and in the same country, but even those who couldn’t meet still found ways to connect. We exchanged gifts, spoke on the phone and populated one another’s lives in various ways.

It will seem a little narcissistic to say but Track Mamma had quite a little crush on me. She would be flirtatious and send me private messages. Her gifts were of a personal nature and I must be honest here, she absolutely loathed you. It was not because you had offended her, it was because she knew that you and I had a special relationship and she was insanely jealous.

She sent me a plethora of gifts: Homemade shortbread, ornaments and trinkets from her home along with other knick knacks and curios. There is however the one thing she sent me that I still laugh out loud about to this day. She sent me an Apple Pie.

Let’s not forget, she lived in Texas, I lived in Sydney, Sydney Australia which is almost 14,000 kilometres away. How did she ship that pie you may ask? Well it was not refrigerated in any way. Track Mamma told me it would be just fine and that it would not require any special attention. “I put it in the freezer for two days” was her reply to my incredulity regarding her shipping and handling plans. I did not bang on about it. She had hand made me a pie and had shipped it to me in Australia. I would not hurt her feelings by telling her there was no chance that it would arrive in a fit state to consume.

I remember its delivery quite vividly. I happened to be standing by my letterbox when it arrived. It was covered in customs and quarantine information. There were stickers all over it stating what they had done to the package to make it fit for distribution in Australia. It had clearly been opened and resealed (quite badly I might add) to check its content.

So a good two weeks or more after it left the continental United States my apple pie from Track Mamma arrived. It had been quarantined, irradiated, inspected, ripped opened and resealed. There was a puddle of pastry and apple at the bottom of a clip lock plastic bag. There was nothing I could do except place it in the rubbish.

So thank you Track Mamma. I feel a little cruel laughing at your misfortune and I would have no doubt enjoyed consuming your apple pie. If it’s any consolation I think of you still if perhaps not in the most flattering manner.

You Will Always Be My Darling

From Sir With Love

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My Dear Magnetic Sir,

Ahh yes, the chatroom we met in holds so many weird and scary memories. I haven’t thought of those chatters in years. I suppose I consider myself fortunate that I was able to remove myself from the chatroom scene relatively unscathed in a modest amount of time. I heard later that chatrooms became horrid places akin to cess pools. I shan’t complain too much though, because it’s where I met you dear Sir.

In all honesty, no one cared where Huggsy Bear was from. She was a little punch drunk when she typed her infamous line of “I have a scottle of botch.”  School Marm was decent, but JJ was a pervert. Funguy was, well a fun guy. I met him and Jay and Stephanie in real life down in Georgia. I still keep in touch with Stephanie.

To say that Track Mamma loathed me is putting it mildly. She didn’t speak to me for quite some time, and when she finally did it was only the briefest of greetings done begrudgingly because of you. I remember informing you of this, and I don’t think you quite believed me at first. I came into the room under an assumed name while Miss TM was happily chatting away with you like a magpie. When I left and entered with my regular name, she clammed up tighter than a drum. Case in point, I think she was dismayed that her chicken bones dance and Voodoo Darling Doll wasn’t working. She didn’t want to incur the wrath of Sir by being unkind to me, so she would grunt or nod my way in a gesture of social competence.  And let’s face it my love, Track Mamma hadn’t ran a track since grade school. I have blotted out the one and only picture of her from my memory in self preservation.

Sir, you know as well as I do that there were many female hearts a fluttering in that chatroom when you appeared on the scene. I heard the grinding of numerous fingernails of women who wouldn’t have thought twice of scratching my eyes out and skewering me in hopes of removing me from the picture in order to catch your golden eye. I am touched that the eye of Sauron  Sir gazed so fondly my way. Your charisma and charm was huge and they all knew it.

As for the apple pie debacle sweetheart, nothing says love like botulism.

Infectiously yours,

Darling

©2014 Darling and Sir

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Touchdown

My Dearest Darling

You have spoken about the Golden Tickets, but the really big news was your imminent arrival. You arrived on a Sunday in March. The year was 1999. I think it was the 7^th. I am fairly certain of the date as I was in the Hunter Valley to help organise and attend my father’s 90^th birthday party. It was on the Saturday, you arrived the next day.

It was a big weekend. I had taken leave, I was in the Hunter. I had balloons to organise, presents; the venue had made significant errors in my bookings for the birthday celebration. So I, with all the aplomb I could muster, stepped in and made it right.

I had friends from Sydney come up for the weekend, one of whom would drive me back the next day. He was kind enough to collect me and drop me at the airport later that evening. You were almost here.

I being so over organised had converted the hours of your connections to Australian time so I knew when you’d leave Vegas, what time you’d depart LA and most important of all when you would arrive in Sydney. I went to bed on Saturday knowing you had boarded. I awoke knowing you were in the air. To say I had trouble containing my excitement would be an understatement. My friends, always used to me being the cool, calm collected one were a combination of bemused concern and I think a little afraid. When they saw me they knew how real it truly was.

I arrived back home. I have no idea what Tony and I talked about on the 3.5 hour trip. I remembered he offered to wait at the airport and drive us home later that evening. As you know I politely declined. Now my father’s party had been a boozy affair. There was much wine and some whisky consumed. I was already agitated by your imminent arrival so with a small hangover and not enough sleep I awaited your appearance.

I had delusions that I would sleep that afternoon. What a pointless idea that was. I had cleaned my under renovation home to within an inch of its life. The food and drinks you liked were in the pantry. There was nothing for me to do. I even tried playing the piano, normally a sure fire way to soothe my nerves. It didn’t help.

Tony, who had a reputation for tardiness, agreed he would call me to advise when he would pick me up. I made it quite clear that if he was late then I would just jump a cab. There would be no excuses today my Darling. To his credit, and for the only time in his life, he arrived early. By this time I was babbling fool. I was trying to keep my excitement under control. I could have jogged to the airport; I mean it was only 30 kilometres away. The pent up energy was enormous. He offered to wait again and I declined. He wished me luck as he dropped me off and I was on my own.

I found the Qantas terminal, checked your arrival time, inspected your exit gate, grabbed myself a bottle of water and awaited your touchdown. I have no idea how long I waited. It seemed like an age. I know I was there with some time to spare. I placed myself where the limousine chauffeurs stood to catch the attention of the jet lagged charges. One called me out on my position. I cut him down quite ruthlessly and received no more feedback from the conga line of drivers.

Then, after what seemed an eternity, you were there. I couldn’t remember what you were wearing. You reminded me just recently. What I remember was your face. It shone. I remember catching your eye and seeing you smile. I felt my heart skip a beat. The moment had become very real indeed. We shared a hug, made a little awkward by your attempt to skewer me with your luggage trolley. But that hug, well that’s when I knew. If there was ever any doubt it was blown away in that moment.

We somehow arrived at the cab rank and quickly grabbed a taxi. We sat in the back seat. I held your hand. I looked into your eyes. I was yours and you were mine. I loved you then as I love you now. The next two weeks were the greatest of my life.

You Will Always be My Darling

From Sir With Love

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My Dear Tender Sir,

That day is such a significant part of my life. I remember getting up before the sun even arose. I had been packed for a couple of days. My kids were sorted and off to visit their grandparents while I was away.

I remember calling you from Los Angeles. I recall telling you, for the first time ever, how apprehensive I was. For one millisecond, I wondered if you’d be there to meet me. That was my character flaw, not yours. All I needed was to hear your soothing voice reassuring me that all was well and it would be all right. You allayed my fears, and I was calm. Once I left the United States soil, there was no turning back for me. I jumped in without hesitation. I was on my way.

I remember sitting next to a woman who hated to fly. She rubbed her rosary incessantly and whispered impromptu words of prayer. After 8 hours or so, she started to frazzle my nerves. I encouraged her to have another drink.

I believe I was one of the last ones to get through customs. I was exhausted but wired at the same time. I knew you were there somewhere. That damn airport was like a maze, and I felt like a bovine in a herd. It was endless, and I specifically recall pushing my luggage cart, turning a corner and coming to a ramp, and thinking “How many more hoops do I need to jump through, before I’m done?”

I started to go down a long ramp. I was looking at the floor deep in thought. I glanced up and saw this tall, dark-haired man, at the bottom of the ramp, with his arms crossed – grief he was tall. He was rugged and dashing. He was staring at me! I fought the urge to look around and make sure I wasn’t mistaken. He was smiling – at me! He was a real-life Mr. Darcy (swoon), and I could feel the masculinity sizzling off him.

Oh my gosh, Mr. Darcy was Sir. My Sir! Suddenly, I was unsteady, and it had nothing to do with jet lag. You were real. You were there waiting for me. You were a sight for sore, travelled eyes, and heavens you made my pulse race and the blood rush to my head. I believe you said, “Hi there.” I was tongue-tied and daft.

As for my run-a-way luggage cart, I blame you. You had me so incredibly flustered that I just let go of it (that’s my story and I’m sticking to it). I can still hear you laugh when it hit you. Yes, that first hug was a bit awkward but only for a few seconds. You reached around and reeled me in. You wrapped me up in your long arms, and you didn’t let go. It was no longer awkward; it became real. I was very self-conscious of how I must have looked and smelled from my international travel, but you didn’t care – not one bit. For a moment the world stood still.

I admit I don’t remember much after that except gripping your hand like it was a lifeline. You just took charge, and I didn’t need to worry about anything from that point on. I felt safe and secure. You never stopped smiling. And your eyes – my word your eyes (more on them later) pierced through me.

The next section of our journey was beginning, and I wouldn’t change it for the world.

Unequivocally yours,

Darling

©2013 Darling and Sir