Square peg
Sometimes you just don’t fit. No matter how intelligent you are, how beautiful you are, how accomplished you are, how cool you are, sometimes you are the square peg in the round hole. Life also has a wicked sense of humour when it comes to showing you your misshapen nature.
Heres how it went for me:
I was sitting in the car on a glorious Sunday afternoon in a Suburb of Sydney I don’t know well. I was supposed to have a morning to myself working but my other half and I got into a D&M and instead of dropping me off we kept driving so we could finish the conversation. Thankfully my work only needs a pen and paper, so failing to find a nearby park in the street directory and having already experienced the atrocious service at the local cafe I turned on the car radio and dug out my notepad and pen.
I was busy wiping bird crap off the inside of the car door (some clever bird aimed its arse at the perfect angle such that it’s excrement flew in through the open window) when I was the lucky caller to win concert tickets for the following night. Fantastic! The only painful bit was that I had to pick the tickets up between noon and 6pm, from the radio station, the night of the concert.
The station happens to be situated in a beautiful skyscraper with water views. I used to belong in buildings like this, but haven’t had the need to be in one for, quite literally, years. I arrive in my typical ‘mum uniform’ jeans, a top, cute flats, basic makeup and hair up in a pony. Surrounded by business men and glamazons in skirt suits, stiletto heels and cufflinked blouses, I felt like the world’s frumpiest housewife.
My only concern was to get to the station’s office, get the tickets and get out of there as soon as possible, whilst avoiding the self-esteem shattering looks of the people who looked like they belonged in the sleek setting. I make it to the desk and collect the tickets. I jump back into the car (my lovely partner has been circling the block) and drop my handbag onto my lap. I notice two things at once 1) my lap is now wet & 2) there is a strong smell of apple blackcurrant in the car.
A string of four letter words run through my head as I put my hand into my bag and bring out an exploded popper (juice box). As if looking like I got lost on my way home to Kansas wasn’t humiliating enough. I call the radio station reception to let them know that a popper exploded in my handbag and that the carpet in front of the reception desk probably resembles a purple puddle.
Like I said, square peg, round hole and damn the universe for making it abundantly clear.
