Daisy does time
High on life- no light of artificial sight.
I know what I will do if I ever get mugged.
I will look my mugger right in the forehead and say I can see the emergence of his third eye.
His monobrow will wriggle in confusion.
Then, I will 1970’s kung fu him in the balls – He will be blubbering.
This is my first chance to demonstrate my self-choreographed, self-defence, dance class, get fit for life infusion.
I’ll grab my bag and wallop him once or twice.
I’m not condoning violence, but I get the feel for it, I’m grooving, putting my own spin on it. So he rolls with the punches and I carry on rolling my dice.
Then when I feel we are on an even keel I’ll stretch out my arm, give him a hand up. Hell, I will even get down on one bended knee.
The score will be settled and even.
That is what you get, mate, for attempted thieving.
Panic alert flashes across my eyes. I didn’t know Mr potential mugger had another job. He’s a rather talented actor – he is making me believe he is actually bleeding.
Wait a few seconds – look left -look right -look left again. Got to keep my wits about me. Road safety training might seem elementary but it can be a lifesaver.
Seconds turn into the longest minute ever documented. I don’t think he is an amateur. In fact, I’m checking for signs of a well-known face; not some chip off the old block. I can hear the other stars calling out for their missing, celebrity neighbour.
Things are starting to turn grave. I’m the one who was in true danger.
Superheroes, do they exist?
I need one pronto – bring a carpet -we have a John Doe to roll up and we need a couple of spades and all of the aces. I need a super professional with a zany twist.
Moments pass. My superhero hasn’t pitched up, he must have run out of gas.
I’m on the run with an imaginary gun – this is not fun. He started it. What an ass!
“Oh why hello, officer, I know what this looks like. Yes, I am running” mentally exercising my train of thought.
“Hit and run?”
“I don’t drive officer. So can we skip the walk in a straight line, touch my nose and rub my belly and get to the part where we both laugh about this situation.”
We may end up in a quaint bar.
The one that sells all the good rum.
My mind is working overtime. Think! Think! What would any civil, well to do, ordinary, civilian lady do in my circumstance?
“Now, officer. I think we can have a bit more fun with those cuffs. Got any fur? oh, how I love to purr.” I’ll lean over just so he can clock my cleavage. Hey, this could work! Have you got any better ideas?
This may be my only chance.
“Ma am , Are you trying to poodle face with me?”
“Me? I don’t even own a dog. Are you trying to call me a bitch? Now that is offensive.”
I was merely using my right to freedom of expression.
My wits tell me to back the fuck down. He is jangling what sounds like more than one key.
He reads me my rights. I tell I’m Catholic.
I ring God daily, no messing with Angel administration. I have him on speed dial to atone for my sins.
Now, this-this is unjust. All this fuss. What happened to the good cop, bad cop scenario?
All I’m seeing is the end of his boot and my own reflection in his riot helmet gear. Have I been transported into some retro game and swallowed a mushroom and turned into super -uber Mario?
Granted, he is a shitty plumber. But, he does get to collect plenty of coins. Maybe I can bail me out.I don’t need no man to rescue me. I am the victim and the surviving princess.
I get the feeling the only jangling I am going to do is when I walk the line. Stub my toe. I think my entitled title just got ripped off me.
It was that mugger that’s got me in this stitch. I’ve been demoted to a rather fatigued and distressed seamstress.
Moral of the story?
Don’t go acting like those sensational media heroes.
Just let your entire shit go-
And tomorrow you will wake up not in a cell but smiling into your favourite stripy bowl of cheerios.