Dear Blog Folk,
I would like to thank you all for the advice about Dildo. I am so pleased to report that she has not been to work since that very first day. Yaaay! And NO I did not lace her lunch bowl with laxatives or arsenics or anything of the kind.
Despite this good news, I can't seem to stop craning my neck over the border of my desk everytime I hear the door open. The barricade I put up under my desk last week is still very much erect, and despite two scuffles and word-exchanges with the office cleaner, it looks set to stay that way - especially after the little 'moment' Dildo and I shared last week - barely a few hours after I wrote the post below.
After my tattle-telling session with The Big Boss on Tuesday, I soon found that the habits of Dildo's owner, and Dildo's owner's partner, were not going to die so easily. Every single time they left their room to come out into our communal area, they left their door open, and a few minutes afterwards, their not-so-little furry friend trotted out to see what it was they were up to. (Apparently she doesn't like being left alone. I felt like yelling "Who bloody cares?!!" but bit my tongue).
Round about 4pm, I was given the joyous task of printing labels. With little or no ceremony, I typed the labels on my computer, and clicked print. I then stood up, preparing to make my jolly way over to the printer, when I noticed that a big furry body was SPRAWLED on the floor barely a metre away from my desk. I could not believe it! Raw, untamed panic built up inside me with alarming speed and I sat down abruptly. You see, I have always known that I was afraid of dogs. I knew this the day my mother turned up with two puppies and let them loose under our dining table. I was about 8 at the time, and although I didn't cry, I did curl my knees up under my chin and secure my feet firmly on the same small square of chair as my buttocks! But alas, last Tuesday, I was no longer a petite 8 year old with short, easily bendable legs. I was a ... {insert words to describe a truly stupendous goddess with a not so small butt, and some not so easily bendable legs} ... And I was panic stricken.
Dildo lay on the floor, unperturbed, preening herself, kinda like Cleopatra on a chaise longue, smack bang in the middle of my route to the labels I had so diligently typed out. I sat at my desk, fiddling with the barricade in the hopes of making it look even more impenetrable to the canine eye (what do I know about doggy IQ?), wanting to storm out, but rooted to the chair by my fear, desperate to bawl like a baby, but mindful of the need to maintain my 'professional' countenance.
Gawd, it was awful!
I really thought I was going to spend the rest of the day glued to my chair, until Dildo grew tired of the 'Isn't it fun torturing Bitchy?' game she had been playing all day! As luck (and GOD) would have it though, Cee came along (she has now become my favourite person in the office, a knight in shining armour, some would say), and sensed from my... um... wobbly expression that all was not so good in Bitchy's hood.
So she got down on all fours, at which Dildo promptly rolled over onto her back (she really is a diva), and began a laborious tummy rub of the stupid dog. Apparently Dildo is a sucker for all things massage-related, but she won't accept rubs from just anyone. She accepts them only from her friends, and only on those days when she requests them. In short, rub her at your peril! Whilst Cee rubbed and rubbed, and imparted all this information about the cranky dog that I had been told was "only a harmless bunny-wunny", I walked to and from the printer, picking up my labels, grabbing envelopes, and berating myself for signing up for the stupid job. Only I could have chosen to work for FREE in an office where a temperamental/ menopausal/ possessed DOG reigned supreme! I walked around lunging at anything in sight that I thought could possibly be of use to me during the remaining 90 minutes I would have to spend in the office, as I vowed at that moment, that I would not leave my seat, not once, not in the event of a runny nose, a water spill, or other such eventuality... not until it was time to go home.
Till next time... Xxx
P.S. Re Title, It was supposed to be a lame pun on the title of Ian McEwan's book. I had actually intended to give my lengthy verdict on 'On Chesil Beach' (months after everyone else, yes, I know!) but somehow all that got lost in the painful memories from last week that came flooding back. Condensed to just a few words, it goes something like this - "What is all the fuss about??" Fine, the suspense in the novel (which I think should even be classed as a novella) is fantastic, and McEwan brilliantly leaves his reader dangling in the air with such unrestrained abandon, and in such an easy manner that many have tried and failed to emulate. But, I am still not convinced that this is a work of literary genius, or that it is deserving of the Booker. Think about it - Is this the best book you ever read? Is it even close?
9 comments:
"Only I could have chosen to work for FREE in an office where a temperamental/ menopausal/ possessed DOG reigned supreme!"
lol! Glad someone helped you distract that doggy.
In ref to that pic... so thatisn't really Dildo is it? And why haven't we explored what kind of a name that is for a DOG!?!?!?
exactly my thoughts, onydchic..freaks me out to hear dog associatied with a dildo!
wats da story, biatch (LOL!!)
Bitchy, how can you dis 'On Chesil Beach'? I love that book. You really have to be very analytic of the characters to really understood the true meaning of the story and why they are the way they are.
The reasons for their nature regarding their attitude to sex is beyond the prudish period of the early sixties. Women were not prudish in the 1930s to the 1940s during the war. Sex was not talked about openly then, fair enough, but people were definitely not strait-laced in intimate situations, that's for sure. Hell, men were scarce. They'll get it when they can, c'mon ; P
Did you ever wonder why Florence is the way she is about sex? Or what really happened on the boat with her father, and the relationship she has with him thereafter? The funny relationship she has with her mother?
Forget the suspense, (which I think is enthralling) what's really fascinating and brilliant about McEwan's writing/storytelling is the way he builds up the characters. With Edward the male protagonist, he tells you everything about his character, but not with Florence. He leaves you hanging when he describes certain characteristics or situations she's in. If you have the hard back copy read page 122 and 124 in chapter 3, where she describes a time when she was on the boat with her father, comparing that situation to when she is on the bed in the hotel listening to Edward taking off his clothes. Did something happen on that boat with her father? .... 'Her only task was to keep her eyes closed and to think of a tune she liked. Or any tune.....'
When I first read it I thought nothing of it, but my uncle who is a prof. in Literature pointed it out (and many other clues) to me. Or what about when she says in the end, as a joke 'Ill kill my mother and marry my father'? Why did she say that and what does it mean in the context. And why did the father take only her on his business trips?
Many people who have read the book didn't notice this at all. I don't know if you did.
McEwan is subtle. Really subtle in his character building. And I love the way he makes you think that it's all about one thing when really there's so much more to the story. It reminds me of 'Talking Heads' and the way Alan Bennett gives you all these clues that if you don't really look closely, you lose the real meaning.
I don't know about you. I think it deserves the Booker, definitely. It's brilliantly written. And now I'm reading 'Atonement'. Want to read it before I see the movie. Oooh, Can't wait.
Well that's the end of literature class and enough of me ranting. Go forth and learn ;P
Ps give me a call or summit. Could meet up for coffee and a catch up session? xxxx
Willow dearest, I DID get the suggestion that something had gone on between Florence and her pop. I'm quite glad you mentioned it actually, as I'd assumed it was a pretty obvious layer of the novel... Perhaps I am a literary genius after all? Hehehehe... And I did appreciate the nuances in his portrayal of Florence. The media paints the 60s as a time when sexual liberation hit Britain with full force, I think what Mc Ewan also tried to show with Flo was that not everyone was able to abandon the prim and proper attitude that had been drummed into them for an eternity, in favour of a more lewd lifestyle, for whatever reason (sexual abuse, or not in Florence's case).
I completely got it, and don't get me wrong, I really really enjoyed the book... I was just expecting so much more from it, (more of an experience, more unputdownability?) after all the ranting and raving I'd seen on blogs and in the Guardian etc etc.
@ Onyd and Ugo, LOL. If you look really hard in the first post, you'll see that I said the dog's name isn't really Dildo... It's something very very similar... Just remove one of the letters.
Ildo? Dild? Dldo? Good to see that your canine friend did not force you to resign last week. Show that bitch who the real Bitch is!
Like Willow, I must disagree with you on almost every point you made about 'On Chesil Beach' other than the fact that it really is a novella rather than a novel. I do also concede that it is probably NOT deserving of the Booker this year. That accolade should have gone to 'The Gift of Rain' which I was disappointed did not make the final cut. I have not read all the books on the list (nor am I likely to) but I would be surprised if there has been a better written book all year.
The murmurings are that'Mister Pip' might nick it just ahead of McEwan.
Hi Bitchy, just leaving a message here so your regulars can see it. Abeg, no vex.
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You guys have gone on and ruined the Mcewan book for me with all the critique..
The book has not reached Port Harcourt...
As for you my love, Bitchy... Am glad DIldo is out of the way and you once again are safe...Xx
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