—22—
Not the Hemingway to my heart
Sir Thomas Beecham reputedly once said, ‘Try everything once except folk dancing and incest.’ Well, Sir Tommy, let me preface this by saying: I’m so, so sorry.
I’ll start from the beginning. A few weeks ago I left my much-loved copy of Jeffrey Eugenides’ Middlesex on the Hoddle Street bus. A flock of giggling schoolgirls skipped onto the bus as soon as I stepped off, and I assumed (to my horror) that one of them would take my adored novel. But to my surprise, a couple of days ago I received a delightful email from a man named Ernest. He had found my book, loved it and wanted to meet for a date. Well, how could I say no to that? Especially with his Nobel-Prize-winning name. It was fate. Or so I thought.
Before I go on, here’s a quick side note on the Edward Cullen situation. It turns out he’s less of a cheating Tom Buchanan than I previously feared, and more of a grieving Captain Norval Chase. You see, he lost the love of his life. And by lost, I don’t mean left behind in the supermarket to later pick up from the lost and found, like I did with my copy of Lady Susan yesterday. I mean bereavement, fatality, demise, passing, death. As you can tell, I am totally sympathetic as well as incredibly overwhelmed by this scenario. I thought about cancelling my date with Ernest on account of all the feelings, but:
2. It turns out I’m starting to feel like myself again. Like I have purpose, meaning to my existence, because, as much as I love to read, I love, need, to write even more and this blog is helping stitch me back together.
3. Could I really turn down an opportunity to discuss the brilliant work of Jeffrey Eugenides?
Hence, I decided to keep my date with Ernest.
But the date was, to be frank, a slow Death in the Afternoon. He informed me that he regularly attends Israeli folk-dancing classes in Elsternwick, and invited me to come along. After much convincing by my best friend (who is a strong advocate for all forms of exercise, dance and dating), I decided to reply, Why the hell not? I trained into Elsternwick, dropped a few books on the Sandringham line on the way, and then found Ernest standing outside an old warehouse, as promised. He was carrying my scruffy book in one hand, and a neon orange water bottle in the other. As always, my first question was, ‘So what did you think of Middlesex?’ To which he replied, ‘Genius. Pure genius.’ We were off to a good start.
The Israeli folk-dancing class was entertaining, to say the least. Loud Middle Eastern music pounded from speakers high on the walls, deep into my veins. The room was about ten degrees hotter than it was outside, leaving everyone covered in a thick layer of sweat. We danced in circles, learned steps such as The Grapevine, The Cherkassia and The Yemenite and shouted ‘Yalla!’ ‘Oi!’ and ‘Hey!’ after every few steps. Ernest told me I was a natural, and to be honest, I really was.
But don’t get too attached. The trouble started when we began partner dancing. Ernest grabbed my clammy hand in his and pressed me close to his sticky body. We began to shout over the music, talking about everything from Calliope Stephanides to the intricacies of gender to our shared passion for all things Pulitzer Prize-winning. He told me about his overbearing mother and I offloaded about mine.
That’s when things started to get a bit dicey.
‘My mother’s third cousin also changed her name after a life-changing experience at a Balinese ashram,’ he said.
‘Oh really?’ I urged him to continue.
After a while he butted in again. ‘My mother’s third cousin also conceived her child on a train carriage.’
‘My mother’s third cousin has the same name as your mother.’
‘Let’s see that photo again? My mother’s third cousin looks identical to your mother.’
You see where this is going? Turns out I was on a folk-dancing date with my third cousin, once removed.
Well, when Jeffrey Eugenides supposedly said, ‘No matter how long you’ve been at it, you always start from scratch’, I can only assume he was talking about my love life.
Until next time, my dears.
After all, tomorrow is another date.
Scarlett O’ xx
Leave a comment (121)
Cat in the Hat > LOL. That Sir Thomas Beecham is one fine fellow.
Jane Ostentatious > My colleague told me to read your blog and they do not disappoint. This is HILARIOUS! Ah, to be tragically single in Melbourne.
No offence but … > This strikes me as pretty racist. Was it necessary to mention the ethnicity of the folk-dancing?
Stephen Prince > @Nooffencebut … Another classic/ridiculous comment from your PC-self.
No offence but … > @StephenPrince, another grating comment from your annoying self.
Stephen Prince > @Nooffencebut … Let’s go for a drink at Two Wrongs and grind each other’s gears?
No offence but … > @StephenPrince IN YOUR DREAMS
Harry Potter-Fiend > A thousand LOLs. This should be a book.