I'm writing to you with my tail between my legs and sad, sad puppy dog eyes. I'm sorry I've been such a bad blogger. I really don't have any excuses other than I just haven't felt like writing. I hope this post will make up for it!
Since I don't really have any pictures to go along with the story I'm about to share, I hope these random pics of my stroll in Golders Green Park will do. Imagine me basking in the sunshine, slurping down a cone full of dark and mint chocolate gelato (as opposed to going for the run I was prepared to do) all whilst telling myself that I'll be a healthier person after _______ (it keeps changing. I think I'll just settle on being a healthier person once we move back).
On Tuesdays, I take Michael to Tae Kwon Doh and have an hour to kill while he's kicking, punching, and hiy-ahing. There's a cute, trendy little boutique nearby called One Seven One. Picture old wood floors, exquisite Parisian silk tops, and snooty, skinny sales ladies.
Despite fearing a Pretty Woman type moment happening to me at the shop (I'm a hot, just-biked-up-hill-and-no-my-hair-is-wet-with-sweat-not-rain mess), I go in and try on some overpriced, flowy tops and try not to do the pound to dollar conversion in my head.
These sale girls put a whole new meaning to the word snooty. Dressed in head-to-toe black, hair perfectly straightened and in place, wearing 4 inch heals. They don't even bother to look up from their cell phones when I walk in (I am now thinking that they probably thought I was homeless or something). When I do ask for help, they look up from their phone and in a barely audible, upper class London accent, give me a one worded answer.
Here's the thing about the English. Despite being sometimes snooty, they are always quietly polite. They simply ignore weird behavior. It's an unspoken rule. You don't make conversation with strangers. Someone could be threatening to kill everyone on the tube, and still a British person will quietly mind their own business and pretend like they hear nothing.
SO, my arms are full of impulse buys that I'll regret the next day when this bear of a woman come stumbling into the shop.
She's wearing oversized, highwater green pants with a too tight shirt that is also green, but not the same shade as the pants, but also not enough of a contrast to really go together. Her hair is all over the place and smells to high heaven. She makes me look like I could own this hoity toity shop. And actually confuses me with sales girl.
"Ex...ex....exchuse me, Ay need...ay need...some shoes," the lady slurs to me, leaning her sweaty body on a rack full of $100 tops.
I just stare at her. The sales lady just stares at her. Finally, because it is simply against their DNA to be outright rude, the sales lady walks up to her and asks, "What kind of shoes?"
"Nah, nah, not shoes. AY need...ay need....(she looks around store and spots the jewelery case) some jewels!"
So the sales lady walks her to the jewelry case. And this is the conversation that continues, as the drunk tries on random baubles.
"But...but....ish it shtretchy?"
"Yes, it stretches to fit your wrist."
"But....can I shhhhh stretch is?"
"But...but...how...how ishhhh it shhtretchy?"
"Oh. Will....wiillll....will I be...alllllergic to the shttretchy?"
"I'm not sure. Other people react to jewelry in different ways. Are you sensitive to different metals?"
"Yeshhhhh! Yesh I'm sensitive! I'm very sensitive!"
"To certain metals?"
"Ohhh....(falls over jewelry case). That one. I like that one. Give me that one."
The high class sales lady pulls out this ugly, fake gold ring displaying a massive, knuckle covering green crystal. And she actually proceeds to let this crazy lady try it on.
At this point, I'm just sitting on a chair, watching the show, holding my purse close to my side. I think the lady is going to drunkenly run out with the ring on her finger, but no, she stumbles to a mirror and admires her newly adorned finger.
"I like thishhh ring. I'm buying thishhh ring."
Then, her eyes fall on me, and to the other staring sales ladies, and she says, "I'm so sorry, girls. I'm simply pissed as a pirate right now", starts to gag, recovers without puking all over the store, buys the ring, and stumbles out to the next high end boutique.
I look at the sales ladies with huge eyes, just waiting for something to be said. But nope, they act like nothing out of the ordinary has just happened, just ask me if that'll be all, and ring up my blouse. Because the English can never be anything other than polite.
I laugh thinking about the pissed as a pirate woman waking up the next day to an itchy finger, confusedly staring at the green rock weighing her hand down, wondering if it is simply a figment of her alcohol-induced imagination, and then going back to bed, all while wondering where in the hell did she find this bauble at?
The people of London will never stop being entertaining.