The Diary Of A Purple Sweater

Wednesday mood

Her: Flowers are essentially tarts. Prostitute for the bees (Withnail and I)

I: Prostitutes are flowers for the guys who married tarts

Latest words uttered

Her: Hoezo Hij?

I: Why getting up so early?

Latest words written

Her: Buxton (for a new subject)

I: Two Three Four One

Latest meal

Her: almond milk and a mix of vegan proteins and marine collagen

I: Cedre from Headspace 

Good morning, dear readers,

How have you been lately?

Have a seat and have a drink. Today, we are going to talk about partners and time wasted in hope of being loved. But first of all, let me share the most precious piece of information of the day. Our lady bought herself a new top this afternnon, one-sleeve draped black satin top, the kind that “exposes to attacks”. The age of innocence is gone once again (typical female age with a constant renewal even after their 70s)

Every time she does so, she has the inexplicable nonsense of buying a sexy piece of garment in hope to please her hoezo hij perfectly aware that he is miles away from where we stand at that particular moment. I never completely understood that girl but let’s go on with today’s story. We are staying in a hotel for a few days. It is too early to enroll the new top in our madness. So, I will be your guide tonight on our mistress’ back.

The hall of the hotel is packed and the mood? Boyant. Italian engineers chat in a corner, expecting others to join them. The staff faces growing calls with the same constant smile and impeccable manners that would have been expected in times gone by.

‘Would you fancy vegetables?’ asks the governess. His delicate waistcoat is crafted with navy blue silk and virgin wool. We have been here for merely three days and we are still amazed by this man’s pure gentleness. So nice it is impossible for our lady to respond fairly to such prevenance (as the French would say). Caring is a business here. But how do you adapt to professional kindness when you lack so much of it in your personal life?

An enigmatic woman sits by the window. She is all nostalgia and red hair. A shaded smile never leaves her lips. It’s as if she knows something she won’t reveal, preferring to let the world breeze by as it does every other evening.

A lonely man has found himself a prostitute. But there is something in his eyes that does not fool me. He had planned this. Married? Let me see… Oh no, there’s no way to see his left hand. Another guy looks at his glass as if he is staring into the depths of his existential blackness. If he turned his head to the left, he would see that the eyes of two young ladies in colourful outfits are filled with total emptiness. Believe me or not, but colours can be prostitutes, too. To our right, two men in white shirts, all buttoned up, are discussing work, their ideas sparkling as much as the water in their glasses.

I know what our lady is thinking about. Hoezo Hij is on holiday with the wife-he-cannot-leave. A whole character, this lady. Some days, she is like an empress. On others, she’s a vampire behind a Bambi mask. She looks more like a prostitute than our mistress; rather unusual for the married woman in the group. Before she met Hoezo Hij, our mistress was certain that she would never become anyone’s mistress. It simply wasn’t for her. Too exclusive. She could not accept sharing a man with another woman. If she wanted a man and he wanted her, he had to be free. But this man gave his heart to our lady so purely that she accepted it, despite the chains around his leg.

Now, for many, our lady is that friend who met a man who cannot officially free himself from another woman. He says he loves her, but spends every holiday with his wife and uses secret codes to manipulate her if she ever wants to leave him.

Our mistress’s new top is going to be a serious undertaking for her heavy heart. We are here in Antwerp for professional reasons, but everything from her feet to her red hair is here because of her suffering. How long will the Bambi vampire suck her youth and love by keeping her lover at a distance? What if he doesn’t feel more comfortable sleeping next to her every time he goes on holiday with her? My lady is looking at her newly formed wrinkles in the copper of the service bell. They are so big that you could actually hide some Easter eggs under them. And what if, in a few years, the man wants to join her to have the baby they talked about?

During the holidays, Hoezo doesn’t call. The Empress Bambi Vampire notices all his moves. Our lady is tired of waiting. She looks at these men bent over a laptop, totally unaware that they are being assessed as potential husbands by our mistress. Since getting up this morning, she has been revising the list of men she should have stayed with instead of meeting Hoezo Hij and the others. The reason? Earlier, Hoezo Hij made it clear to her that many men were attracted to his wife. This means that he is also very attracted to his wife’s body.

A single one-sleeved top would not suffice for our lady tonight, so I am on her back. Our mistress sacrificed everything she had for him for a year — even her ability to provoke desire in other men. I know what she is thinking, and it’s a good thing I’m here. How many men did she sacrifice herself for? How much of herself did she give up for each one? She glances at the customer who invited a prostitute. I know it reminds her of her younger days when she was a waitress and used to stay out late. Every time she sprays me with Habit Rouge, I know who she is thinking about. And why? Why the waste? But let’s keep that secret for now, shall we?

EDIT

As for the new top, I have detected symptoms of autism in his behaviour.