The Zing Fling

A few months ago, I turned fifty.

This didn’t come hand in hand with suicidal depression or homicidal rage (at least no more than could be considered normal).  After all, I’ve had a slew of brain surgeries and a zillion other things that cause me to think turning fifty is in fact, a testimony to my sheer bloody refusal to leave the planet.

So I was fine with the idea of turning fifty; and before my birthday, one of my best friends took me off to a “day spa” for two days of pampering.   Pampering came in the form of gossip, wine and weird floatation beds while we were covered in mud.  And I’ve got to admit; it was incredibly relaxing and made us feel comatose tranquil.  The only problem was that we were going out for dinner and breakfast which was adding to my bloated appearance.

I should probably point out here that since the Squeeze moved in and yanked his testicles out of the Harridan’s handbag; things have been somewhat calm and normal.  We have the odd drama where she attempts to flex muscle, but in truth, she is no more than an annoyance…  A dog barking in the backyard of our lives if you will.

With the blanket of ‘comfortable’, I have managed to add approximately fifteen kilos to my body – and I’m not happy about it.   I walk along and suddenly see my reflection in a window and cringe away from it.  It’s shocking.  How can this be me..?  This isn’t the person I see in my head!

So while at the day spa and during one of these dinners, I suggested to my girlfriend that what I needed was a “Zing Fling”.    She was intrigued.  No unlike her, you may wonder what the hell a Zing Fling is…  Just what have you been missing out on..? 

In truth, it was something I made up on the spur of the moment.  Just a way to explain to her that as my life was sinking more and more into “normality”; it was as though my body was bloating so as to stay afloat in the land of ‘on the edge’.  Let’s face it, ‘on the edge’ is rattling; it’s nervy…   It’s when I am at my best physical appearance.   It is the beginning of the relationship; facing the unknown.

So I needed something to pull me back to the edge.

You can probably hear the clanging bells of warning at that sentence; I could.

But I was thinking more about how you could get the zing back into life, a spring in your step, a bounce to your pony tail – without jeopardizing your relationship.  You want to be lingering near the edge, not actually hanging on by your finger nails.

I told her that what I needed was for a select few of my best friends to hire a man to bump into me and start a mild flirtation.  Just a little zing!  They know exactly what would appeal to me; they control it and they tell him what to do.  You can’t cross any boundaries…  You can’t endanger my relationship; just give me the tiny message that someone actually can find me attractive.  Someone is going to look at me and smile, and I’m not going to feel like dragging my carcass away while roaring “I am not an animal!”

Yes.  I know.  It has a million holes in it and without doubt, would probably end with “tears before bedtime” – as I’m fond of warning my another friends while they are explaining equally ridiculous hair brained schemes.   But come on!  Even the name is catchy!