'Excuse Me'

Daily trip into town, sun shining, slight breeze; by all counts a beautiful day.

Until, I enter Tesco.

I’m walking around the isles, checking out the best deals on Cheddar cheese (I only like Mild, so that can limit my choice) when I hear a male voice speak the three words no self-respecting 22 year old female ever wants to hear …. ‘Excuse me SIR.’

Now I would have understood this slight misunderstanding, if 1) I had short hair 2) I had a beard or 3) I hadn't been wearing a skirt. But no, I was in a skirt, legs bare (and not hairy, I had shaved!) hair down; long and curly, with some make up. This is where my embarrassment hit levels I still hadn't fully experienced in adult life. For a second time the Tesco employee proceeds to look me square in the eye, and he says ‘Excuse me sir.’ I look around, completely forgetting the Cheddar Cheese, hoping to spy a gentleman in the vicinity. No such luck! Had I forgotten to bleach my tash? No I did it about a week ago. Legs?  They were hairless. Hair chopped off during the night? Nope it was still present. Gruff voice? I don’t remember speaking! Of course this is when I started to wonder; how can I make myself look any more feminine? I've pondered over this question with friends, and they have all agreed that a boob job is the only thing to be done. I happen to like my below average sized breasts, I can run and they don’t move. One of the many perks of having grapes for breasts.

All in all this experience taught me one thing. If someone says ‘Excuse me sir’, and you’re a female, just assume that they aren't talking to you, and if they continue this persistence in questioning your gender then telling them to fuck off, may not help the situation, but it made me feel better. 

All in a name

Emmaline Emerald Bentley and Fenella Rosemary Bentley. We sound like we’re about to be coronated or that we are the horse riding porn stars of Sluts find their Suitors.

When asked why my mother decided to crown us with these marvelously middle class (reaching above themselves) names, she said ‘Well, darling, I want you to be remembered.’ Now let’s stop right there. This little gem of motherly affection has definitely confirmed my remembrance, but NOT, for the name Fenella, no, no, no. Vanilla and Fanny are the two that people really enjoy shouting down corridors … at work. Who knew humour could be so juvenile?

My sister Emmaline on the other hand, that’s not caused as many problems, but maybe that’s because ‘Emmaline’ is not my sisters real name, her name is in fact just Emma. But my beloved mother, after our peer in- peer out father had done his last bout of peering, decided to rename Emma, Emmaline. In fact it took one of my sister’s boyfriends six months before he realised that Emmaline Bentley was not his girlfriend’s name at all!

All living under pseudonyms for no reason whatsoever, the madness which is my family, has now been passed on to the next generation, it really is an endless cycle.

Then again dear readers, my luck isn't so bad, I have a friend named Richard Seamen, a careers adviser called Bruce Woodcock, and a professor crowned Gavin Mountjoy ….

The joy a name can bring.