As we wait for Spin to start, I realise that the new studio wallpaper (photo attached) evokes that in the kitchen at my parental home. It’s disconcerting. It’s also Too Hot in here. The air conditioning must be broken again. Mustn’t grumble: this is my favourite Spin class – 11.15am on Saturday, and I haven’t been for ages.
“It’s amazing how some people can be so nice,” Mum says in the car yesterday. Her tennis partner is taking her to the Men’s Final at Wimbledon.
“Isn’t it strange, how you can meet someone in a random way and become such good friends and…”
“No, it’s not,” my brother says.
“Here: let the expert explain it to us,” I say. My brother is the family-authority-on-human-nature.
“At the time when you two met,” my brother says, switching into Professor mode, “you were the best version of yourself. You bonded through your shared love of tennis and dog walking. So it’s not strange at all.”
What is strange though, I think as we drive to the pub, is that even in this ghastly time of underage-breast-cancer, I’ve made new friends. Some acquaintances have stepped up to the mark and become close confidants. Most people have been useless, it’s true, but even in this time dominated by hospital treatments, I’ve somehow managed to develop new friendships.
Perhaps that means that, during this period, I have been some sort of ‘best version of myself’. And, let’s not forget, Seb has decided he wants to be with me. Now that I’m a stone heavier, covered in scars and have cancer in my lungs, my great love wants to give our relationship another chance.
Truth really is stranger than fiction.
Must rush as haven’t washed or finished The Omelette and Suzie is on her way. Am not going to wash. Rafa has just strolled onto the court.
Happy Saturday everyone!
*1892. By Charlotte Perkins Gilman. Brilliant and terrifying short story. Read it!