When 75% of your time is spent in the hustle and bustle of airports, crowds and strangers, there is nothing more consoling than the solace of your own company and your personal space. So precious is this Zen, you fail to notice the construction workers that are rapidly building invisible walls that fortify entrance to this members-only club. Few have the privilege of a VIP pass beyond these walls, but they are allocated only following those special and often random encounters you have along life’s journey that for some reason tick the boxes, bond and get to know the real you. I had that this week, with some of the best ticket holders of the pack, fleeting reunions, yes, but nevertheless more valuable than a golden ticket to Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory. Each of you know who you are.
Outside of members-only, it has been said that I don’t suffer fools gladly, or lightly. Indeed I might even suggest that quite frankly I don’t suffer them at all.
For the female butterfly of the social scene there is no worse company than the assuming bar-fly, the opportunity-seeking breed that, once they land, you simply need to swat away. I mean, is it really so rare to be content with the art of interesting dialogue and not feel obliged to enter a quick fire round of speed dating?
If mental intercourse is blogomist promiscuity, then infidelity is one sin to which I shall have to confess. For the swatted rest, feel free to continue to throw the car keys (or room keys) in the fish bowl.
Thanks, but no thanks - take it as fact that the Garden of Eden can survive just fine with Eve. And every apple can stay on the tree!
‘Til next time,
Pandora
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