The Twitch

There's a twitch on my tail.

No, before you ask (I know you lot, you're as perverse as I am), that's not some sort of code for an itch in an intimate area. I mean there's a particular facial tick that has been shared by a whole handful of people in my world today, almost every time I appear. It's the kind of tick you used to see in 1970s deodorant ads, on the faces of the people around The Man With A Problem...That No-One Can Mention...

And no, before you all make the obvious observation, I don't have B.O.

Well, not today at least. Yes, I'm sure, shut up, I'm trying to tell you something.

It started in the canteen at my office. They were doing their usual Friday funfest - dragging some poor, unsuspecting bottom-dweller off the ocean bed and battering the shit out of it...and indeed onto it, under the probable, unfortunate and misleadeing misnomer "Fish". I'm not normally particularly squeamish (though no doubt d would raise an eyebrow at this self-deception), but I demur to eat anything which, in its natural environment, would probably eat me first, so I chose a baked potato with beans. Just beans. No welcoming, lubricating grease of any kind, just a wodge of carb with a ladle full of farts piled on top.
Actually, thinking about it like that, the twitch that passed over the face of the chef seems to make a reasonable amount of sense. Three years at catering college, the twitch semed to say, and you ask for a baked potato...and beans. I despise you with a passion you can only dream of...

I went to see the nurse after work tonight, because - as a result of our unexpected trip, I needed more Xenical before we get on a plane tomorrow. In general terms, it was a better visit than the last time I saw her at the end of a busy Friday. But she of course made me weigh before giving me the pills.
And there was the twitch again. It wasn't disapproving this time...not exactly. It was the same twitch, but on this different face, it said You pathetic, sad little worm of a man. What are you trying to do here? She sniffed at the scales, went and sat back down, and then said "Erm...do you have any dieting goals?..."

You know, a fellow could start to take this sort of thing personally.

I met d and, because we're frantically packing tonight (I know, I know, it's not like I'm packing particularly frantically, I'm on here talking to you...), we decided to keep it simple and take a trip to Pizza Hut. It was challenging right from the start - they make you wait to be seated, so we went and stood by the hostess, who busied herself with Ignoring Customers with a dedication that was truly breathtaking. Eventually, we ignored her in return and went and claimed a table. The serving staff were clearly runing some sort of book on how long people could be made to sit without having any notice taken of them. When we finally trapped one of them into taking our order, I chose one of their so-thin-it's-basically-a-cripbread 'healthier' pizzas, and a juice smoothie. Annnnd there it was again. The twitch. On the face of this vacant young gazelle-creature, it had changed its meaning again. Now it was the sneer of the young, who think they have the world at their feet, for the thoroughly irritating reason that they do.
Yeah, whatever, you fat old slob, like I need this, innit? the twitch said. It twitched off, which was probably just as well, given everything.

And finally, we popped into the local Starbucks. Yes...the one I was popping into when I had my last big tachycardic moment. Felt weird, but somehow cathartic to make it all the way through the doors this time. d went first, and they began preparing her order.
"And you sir?" said the woman behind the counter. Now bear in mind all the macho bullshit I went through at first, trying to get my head around the business of even drinking de-caff. Now I was back in the bosom of the great caffeine-pimps, and the very ones, no less, who had done for me last time. Could I overcome the screaming of a hundred generations of Real Men in my head, and make myself say the words...?
"I'll take a...(sigh)...a Grande De-Caff Latte please," I said.
The twitch...twitched. This time there was no particular malice to it. It merely said This is a coffee shop, sir. Look - displays about how we find the finest beans from around the world, and roast them to jussssst the right colour for a supremely palatable caffeine hit. Are you sure you're in the right place, sir? I mean...really? Can I direct you to the Claire's Accessories a few doors away, they have some wonderful bangles and hairclips there sir...
"See?" I said to d. "Told you it was weird."

Home now. Hopefully twitch-free for at least the rest of the evening. Although there is a lot packing to do, so who knows? The damn thing could make a final appearance yet...

Apologies, by the way, for the lack of a post yesterday - as dedicated followers of the Disappearing Man will know, the post did appear, but on my Facebook page, as Blogger itself was down for great swathes of yesterday and today. So although, technically, you could say my idea of posting one entry per day for the whole year is broken, I'm claiming it as a no-harm, no foul, because there was absolutely nothing I could do to get the entry on here, and I did at least provide it where I could.

Oi! I saw that! Stop twitching, for God's sake!