Disappointment

Define disappointment.

How about this, its the feeling you get when you see this really gorgeous gal, the kind that you would stop dead in your tracks, back track and in the most discreet manner you can possibly muster: stare hard at. There she is sitting at Borders reading a book in a manner that belies a quiet confident intelligence mind beneath that holy shrine of a face. Looks perfectly at ease in stark contrast to your heart which is like thumping as though you just took steriods or something. You try to gulp down that lump in your throat to move in for the kill (okay, i am perpetually too chicken to do something remotely resembling that). And bam! You see the title of the book she is reading: Preparation for motherhood.

Okay, you could argue that she is reading for knowledge, but would you read some title like for example Dealing with menopause, Impotency: The last frontier?, Coping with Infidelity etc, just for the fun of it? Contrary to popular opinion, i believe there is such a thing as too much knowledege. Case in point: details of your parent's courtship. My mum told me it was love at first sight for her and my dad. She never got any further than that cos i immediately complained about the weather and told her i was going to bathe.

Anyway, i digress. Back to the point, lately the only women I find attractive are a) pregnant b) sporting a ring on the wrong finger c) holding the hands of a guy other than myself (whom more often than not looks like Danny Devito or Dr Evil d) all of the above. The only recent deviation to the norm is Ms Preparation-for-motherhood.

Such is life. The last words of the early 20th or issit 19th century Australian bandit Ned Kelly before he was ultimately hanged. I find myself spouting different variations of that statement lately. Is that a sign of resignation? Or is it a statement of defiance? Life works in curious ways i guess.

Slacker