About Moxie Girl Musings

Moxie Girl Musings is about starting over from square one after tragedy impacted my young family. It's filled with stories of triumph, struggle, snafus, hopes, and dreams. Sometimes there will be features from other writers that I like and every so often I'll include an original short story, but normally I simply write what's on my mind at the time. Welcome to my unfiltered true-life story as I figure out this thing called life. http://www.amberleaeaston.com

Sunday, September 9, 2012

Inviting that first date home? Don't! --A funny follow up to my "here we go again post" from author Neil Chapman

Author Neil Chapman
Inviting that first date home?  Don't!
by Author Neil Chapman

(a funny follow-up to my "Here We Go Again" Post from Author Neil Chapman--now I don't feel so alone! Yay!) 

       So the Thursday night date had gone well. She was intelligent, funny, had a high- powered job, and she was athletically attractive. She was a widow too. Put it all together and for some curious reason, being a man, that usually works for me.  The only slight  ‘complication’ was the dead husband. Apparently he’d had some serious London gangland connections, which unbelievably (?) had only come to light after his death. She described his funeral as like something out of ‘The Sopranos’ and a couple of them had told her “ Don’t worry babe, you’re still ‘family’. Any one gives you problems, we’ll take care of it.” 
      As we said goodnight I said I’d ring her. And I meant it.
      Imagine my surprise when she rang me at 10pm the following night and told me that she was in her car, lost, just up the road somewhere, and perhaps I could pick her up? Eh?
       Now I’m not what you might call the perfect gentleman but I’d seen enough Cary Grant films to know what to do.  As I walked out of the house towards the drive, there she was! Parked behind my car… waving at me. Oh dear.
      I opened her car door and as she stepped out, she fell. It was an awkward fall not helped by the fact that she was clutching a half-opened bottle of brandy that she somehow managed to preserve without spilling a drop. I told you she was athletic didn’t I?
       It took the best part of 10 minutes to get her into the house, a full 15 yards away. The journey was interrupted regularly as she tottered, kept falling off her heels, clutching onto me, and slurring how much she really, really liked me.
       Am I worried at this point? Yes.
       I guided her indoors into the sitting room and plonked her on the sofa. (Plonk is an English slang word meaning ‘put’… in case you had other ideas?)
       I knew Cary would have suggested a black coffee at this point, so I did, and went off into the kitchen to make it. She had gone very quiet, but was that good thing or a bad thing? It was a bad thing.
         I carried the tray back into the sitting room and there she was. Still where I had sat her, but now she was naked, totally naked, legs akimbo. And asleep, snoring like my dear old granny used to.
       I know I need help but I can’t rely on Cary anymore, this is out of his league, we’re talking obscure Italian porn movie guys here.  But Cary won’t be denied. Spoilsport! So I covered her modesty with a duvet.
       But my problems are only just beginning I reckon. 
       What if her embarrassment, her humiliation, lead her to cry ‘Rape’ when she wakes up?
       Then I remember my daughter was due to pop in any time now. What would she make of her dad and a naked lady stretched out on the family sofa where once upon a time she used to curl up and watch ‘The Muppets’?? She was never a fan of me dating but this was something else indeed. 
        It got worse. What if she called one of her Sopranos?
         I turned the TV back on with the volume up loud. She was now snoring so loudly  I almost didn’t hear my daughter arrive. I’m out of the chair immediately, closing the door behind me and I almost frogmarch her into the kitchen. We chat about stuff and to this day I don’t remember a word that was said, and then I frogmarch back outside to her car. “Whose car is that dad?” 
        “Oh someone broke down outside darling, so I said they could leave it here overnight out of the way.’
Well that was one problem solved. All I had to worry about now was being arrested, a rape trial, or being concreted into the next motorway bridge.
         I didn’t sleep very well.  
        She woke me around 6.30 am. She sat on the edge of my bed and we chatted as if nothing had happened.  Incredible really, not a word about being blind drunk, naked under a duvet, or finding her clothes all neatly stacked up beside her. I can only think it must have been just another Friday night for her.
She kept in touch, She not me. By now I had morphed into Humphrey Bogart and she eventually got the message. I still check underneath my car every morning for bombs, just in case she might have mentioned it to a Soprano, but so far…        
        So dearest Amber, with regard to your “Here we go again’ post, please don’t worry about the state of the house, whether the scatter cushions are neatly arranged, none of that stuff. Things could be worse. A lot worse.

Neil Chapman
‘A few days up North’
Amazon Kindle UK

Want more of Neil's humor?  Follow him on Twitter at https://twitter.com/NeilSChapman 

More about Author Neil Chapman:

A working class Grammar School boy, Neil was taken out of school early and pitched into work to help support his family, following his father's illness. That's what you did in those days.
An interesting few years followed.
Neil became a semi-professional footballer with two international youth caps, and then morphed into a croupier at a local Strip Club-come-Casino. As you do. A couple of years later, now in his early twenties and after swearing he never wanted to see a naked woman ever again (a feeling that soon passed, strangely), Neil went 'legitimate' and spent a few years building two used-car businesses.
Marriage settled him down a little, and the imminent arrival of the first of his two daughters saw him join a 'blue chip' multi-national company as a salesman. Four years later he was their youngest National Sales Manager ever. Twenty years later, he was their oldest Sales Manager ever, and now managed a large chunk of the marketing department too.
Its the marketing bit that's interesting, because that's where it all started.
Neil found he had a talent for writing and, for a number of years, wrote much of the company's internal and external communications, mail shots etc. and devised and scripted numerous international conferences. Not Man Booker stuff admittedly, but from small acorns...
Almost as soon as he hit fifty years of age, he retired. He wanted to write. Full time.
He reckoned that if you want to do something you love, you have to do it properly.
To date, he has finished his novel, 'A few days up North', and he has also adapted it into a three part TV serial and written a film screenplay based on the story. You can tell he likes the story.
So much so, he recently started the sequel, or is it the prequel? Let's wait and see.