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Location: Dublin, Republic of, Ireland

Friday, 19 January 2007

True Story: Fly me to the moon - the eternal song of the eternal spinster!

Fly Me To The Moon.
A Compassionate Narration Celebrating True Friendship by Susan Abraham

Sadly, I have exhausted all my puritannical spinster stories. You may study the bulk of this species in my Aug/Sept '06 archives.

I only have one spinster left. I once had a friend (who doesn't talk to me no more), who was a born-again Christian spinster and she had a flower name. Her name was Rose.
However, I shall rename her, Magnolia.
Here is a picture of my friend, Magnolia. Isn' she pretty? Of course, she doesn't wear a crown. She was ONLY pretending it was a bridal veil. Poor thing! Yes, you are right. She is romantically wide-eyed and her mouth is always open for possibilities. Thank you, people. Thank you. You are so kind.

Magnolia stands for perseverance; a noble name for my friend. At the time, Magnolia was 47 years old and looking anxiously for a husband. My friend, Magnolia, or maybe I should say in endearing terms, Maggot for short, lived a sheltered childhood. Never been kissed, never dated, and never fallen in love. In Asia in an Indian household, it meant you were cursed. It was damnation on earth, to put it kindly.

But one was never to lose hope as I encouraged my friend, Maggot. Just that at a tender age of indisposition, one had to be careful.

If one secured a husband, and attempted to make love for the first time on one's wedding night.
(please refer to my handbook, The Ageing Spinster's Guide to Mattressing her Valentino). If instructions were not carefully followed, the results could be fatal.

Before that Kama Sutra moment, I would strongly recommend that the unders be cleaned out for cobweb-by mouldy bits. Have handy a broom, a mop and a vacuum. A baby toothbrush is vital for the sensitive bits.

But be careful, that you don't want to go poking in other corners. Another Indian husband of the oldy mouldy kind - either a divorcee, a widower or a real Mummy's boy who never left home may still be hoping for a virgin bride at 60. You don't want any freak cases of hymen destruction, just before you know what...
and then his teeny-weeny little old lady of a mother comes along to beat you up.
A first-aid kit? Yes, that's a good idea.

Also, I wondered if Yoko Ono who had daringly exhibited a pubic shampoo in her flower power years in London, still had this antique-y object in stock? Anywhere, I could purchase additional supplies?

Also just be careful that when he embraces you, the creaky bones don't leap out like a Halloween skeleton.

Be careful that your droopy breasts having suffered complete neglect, don't escape from your anatomy and crash to the ground. The possibility of a panic attack is high. Have they EVER seen a man's hands? Ask them. Warn them to be prepared. And that he doesn't by mistake swallow a loose nipple.

Always take precautions:
a) Have an ambulance's number ready in case your Valentino chokes from a clumsy nipple.
b) Have a solicitor's number ready in case your Valentino sues you over a broken nipple.
c) Have an undertaker's number ready in case, your Valentino dies from a killer nipple.

(*Remember you could also counter-sue for loss of a nipple. Ask for a £1,000,000. I mean, what do they think? That women's nipples just fall from the sky like nobody's business?)

Store this emergency checklist next to your dentures, as I tell my friend, Maggot.

The trouble is my friend, Maggot could never walk straight so it was very hard to find her a husband. She scuttled around like a a cartoon. She squirrelled about here and there.

In the end I thought that with Maggot always bending over as if she was going to kiss the gravel, her husband should be a little person. I thought maybe a midget, hobbit or dwarf would do the trick. What do you think? At least, they could kiss in peace.

I found some at a matchmaking agency. Here are their gorgeous photographs:

I mean, there is so much character isn't there, so much possibility...
Cheery old so-n-so, and what an interesting nose...are-those warts-or-what.., or the brooding hunter this one and another Maggot look alike and look here a real-scuttler. I did commend myself on having good taste.

My friend Maggot was not impressed and accused me of trying to destroy her life. After all my trouble, I tell you...

One day, Maggot received her Christian calling of going to work in a village orphanage. Oh, my dear heart. I had to save her life. I followed in close pursuit. The first thing I noticed, "...hey, there ain't no men here."

I spoke desperately to Maggot. How could she get married? Did she remember her favourite dj who played the classic 60's numbers on her favourite radio station. She wouldn't get to hear him no more. Joey, he was a dish that one! Maggot was in love with the happily-married, Joey. I pleaded but to no avail. The mission was just to get her OUT OF THERE!

Maggot said she was giving herself to Christ completely for the next 2 years. I thought, what madness. Maggot was not allowed to receive phone calls or send out email from the orphanage. The glory of heaven did not encourage worldly media technology. I tried and cried, my friends. How I tried and cried.

Maggot complained to the orphanage principal. The principal strongly agreed with Maggot's suspicions that she was caught in the bondage of mind control. And that I was the culprit. Evil spirits had followed me from the radio station in Kuala Lumpur to drag Maggot back to sin. Maggot had to be delivered from demonic possession. I was accused of being an adulteress and permanently banned from the orphanage.

So that was that, my friends. Today, Maggot has had a change of heart. She is 52 years old and still looking for her husband. For secret reasons, she did not return to the orphanage. She works for an old folk's home. I can see the rationale to that. After all, if you can't secure a man on earth, why not prepare for the afterlife. Who knows, reincarantion may yet rescue Maggot. A 90-year old man she fed porridge to, may return to earth as a Brahmin prince.

Do you remember my Never Mind philosophy? That if there is one roadblock, simply secure another option. True friend, that I am, I can't give up on Maggot. So I am putting up a plea.

Extra-terristerial objects. Or UFOs. They have little green men, don't they. The size is just about right. If anyone spots a Ufo, could you please let me know. Yes, I understand perfectly that they may not be FUCTIONAL in the sensuality department. But my friend, Maggot is so ill-informed, I don't think she'd notice the difference.

If you can, do try and secure an outer space address. Any kind of planetary institution will do. My friend Maggot loves institutions. And she's always wanted to travel. Always think outside the box, I say.

I say, thank you, thank you, so what does this planet read then, Anus? Onus? oh...you mean, Uranus & Venus, of course, of course, thank you, my friend, Maggot will be so pleased. Accept her appreciation from me. And you mean this UFO in particular would be returning home via the Bermuda Triangle? And stopping for fuel in Greenland? And staying the night?

Oh, no problem at all, my friend Maggot would be delighted. What with all this adventure. At least, she won't have to worry about no phone calls or email there. Oh...be careful sir, I think, that's a UFO about to land on your head!

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