Facebook. Abi Tight feels like Iggy Pop the day he plugged himself into a power plant

July 28, 2009

Vibrating at an extraordinarily high frequency, I feel sexy to the core and whatever is emanating from me is giving off some kind of weird gravitational pull. One guy I know who hardly ever gives me the time of day stops me at the train station to say, “Wow, you’ve changed. There’s something about you. You’re, you’re magnetised.”

“Magnetised? I’m having some freaking Kundalini moment.” I reply. “I’m a volcano about to explode. My husband of ten years has left. My kids are distraught. My whole world is crumbling and yet here I am acting like phoenix rising from the bloody ashes.” By this stage we are on the train, my train guy appears to have been hit in the face with a baseball bat while the rest of the carriage looks on silently, awestruck and more than a bit bemused.

“I’m sorry, I, I didn’t know.”

“No, no-one knows, apart from my closest friends. You are the first person outside my immediate circle I’ve told.”

“What are you gonna do? You still got the house?”

Train guy is going to wish he had never sparked up a conversation with me. As I rant and rant about old life versus new with delicate information I should be saving for the divorce courts I am sucking up the gas from my sweet liberation. And while I feel taller each minute I offload, the rest of the train carriage is mentally shrinking back towards the toilet door.

“Women don’t normally feel so alive when their other half clears out of the bedroom leaving nothing but a few used earplugs and stray pubes scattered inside the bed as evidence he ever existed, do they?”

“Um, well, um, no I suppose they don’t. I mean, I’ve never really asked.”

“I should be sitting in a darkened room, too paranoid to go out. Or sobbing and heading for the fridge.” I turn off the phone playing Rihanna’s ‘Disturbia’ into my pocket then notice a crowd of concerned faces looking panicky in my direction. Can they see something I can’t see? Am I really a female force to be reckoned with or deep, deep down is the fear goblin slowly chewing at my wiring sending me a teensy bit off balance?

I mean for God’s sake since I hit thirty, my boobs have started heading South, I am developing exclamation marks for wrinkles between my eyebrows and am now proud owner of a top drawer full of decaying underwear. What would a man, or men, find attractive about me? If you don’t know it already you are going to find out sooner or later. Giving birth naturally to two kids seriously changes the landscape of your undercarriage. Mine is not the geisha pout it used to be. Not that I need to look South to find out. When I last had a bath with my eight year old Nancy (another Aries) she asked,

“What IS THAT?” squirting bubbles through her lips.

“It’s my – um – flower?” I reply, desperately grappling for a word, having forgotten to consult the manual of PC (parentally correct) retorts.

“THAT is not a flower, Mum. THAT is disGUSTING. YUCH…Can you wear pants the next time you have a bath with me?”

And there ends the short sharp lesson in humiliation from small beings.

Soooooo, if I am really not so sure I want to share that part of me again with anyone sober should I be feeling kind of excited about rejoining the dating scene after 7 years of slow dehydration in the marital Gobi? And what is this incredible vibrating feeling? Has the phone gone off in my pocket again? Has Venus just skipped into my astrological sign? Or is that crazy love mojo meditation I got off Hay House’s Internet radio station actually starting to work?

“You just seem kind of younger, more vibrant, that was all I really wanted to say,” says Train Guy, looking rather sympathetically at me. “I’m sorry if I upset you – must go.” And with that he slopes off at the stop before his usual stop, waves goodbye and plonks himself down on the cold metal station seating. I watch a wave of relief wash over his face as the train pulls away and I leave Train guy waiting half an hour for another train rather than suffer five more minutes of Ms Tight’s relentless ear-bleed chat.


7 Responses to “Facebook. Abi Tight feels like Iggy Pop the day he plugged himself into a power plant”

  1. 70ssal said

    Abi, congratulations, you may have just taken your first step to official spinster madness. You have started wittering to total strangers on public transport to their alarm. Now, that may be acceptable elsewhere but not in London. Possibly the only place where you can have 300 people crushed together, invading personal space all over the place, and still you can hear a pin drop, and manage to avoid eye contact with every single one of them. Amazing.

    Your daughter is clearly given far too much freedom to express her thoughts and opinions. It’s just not Britsh. Start repressing her now.

    As for the vibrating thing – I did warn you about those love balls.

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  3. […] Tight presents Facebook. Abi Tight feels like Iggy Pop the day he plugged himself into a power plant posted at The Butterfly Diaries, saying, “What is this incredible vibrating feeling? Has the […]

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  5. Savannah said

    Awesome blog!

    I thought about starting my own blog too but I’m just too lazy so, I guess Ill just have to keep checking yours out.

    • Abi Tight said

      Thanks Savannah.

      Writing a blog really doesn’t take too much effort, keeps me off facebook and helps me purge alot of emotions while keeping myself amused. Yes, I’m like a kid who laughs at her own jokes. Besides, I see writing as a form of meditation. Please pass the blog on to anyone you think might like it…and keep the comments coming.


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