I do....not!

With 2012 being a leap year I am predicting many women over the world will be using this opportunity to get down on one knee and propose to their beloved, however I find the idea of doing that quite odd! I’m all for making changes and doing things in order to get what you want in life, but when it comes to marriage, I am a traditionalist and would only ever expect my boyfriend to be the one who does the asking, providing he got permission from my Dad first!

That’s not to say I don’t admire those who do decide to pop the question. You only need to Google “leap year proposals” to see the huge number of suggestions, ideas and ways in which women have asked loved ones for their hand in marriage, but personally, I still can’t help but find it all a little strange. I would prefer if a man asked me because I think it’s more romantic. I want to be caught off guard with a nice diamond ring and swoon over it when I talk to my friends about how he proposed. How can that happen if I was the one who asked? It just wouldn’t be the same, and somehow I just can’t picture myself getting down on one knee and holding out a little box asking that all important question. Plus I couldn’t handle the rejection if he said no, especially after all the effort that I would put into choosing the ring and making sure the time was right to ask him. 

If you are one of the lovely ladies out there planning to propose this year, I salute your bravery. I’m sure the man in your life will lovingly accept your offering and I hope your lives together will be a happy one. For me however, I am still waiting to find my man and look forward to the day when I do because marriage and having children is something I want more than anything and I will happily accept when he asks me!

Five minute Fiction: The Escape

This story came to me at work today. I have no idea why or how, but I wrote it in my lunch hour. I hope you like it.

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She knew what she was doing to him was wrong but she couldn’t stop herself. She lifted her arms over her head one final time and embedded the knife straight through his heart. He was already dead but she needed to know he would never wake up and hurt her again the way he had for the last eight years. The room was still and she sat there next to him breathing heavily, slowly composing herself after that final scream of hatred was so loud it forced the neighbours to stop in their tracks to take in the noise.

A pool of dark blood swam towards her like an estuary finding its ocean but she didn’t move. She could already hear the faint sound of sirens in the distance and knew it would be only a matter of time before the police were arresting her. She looked around the room at the unmade bed where she had just spent one last unloved moment of passion with him. She felt sick knowing she had put herself through that again, but it was worth it because he was now dead. He couldn’t hurt her anymore. The sunlight was breaking through a gap in the curtains highlighting erratic dust particles trying desperately to escape the horror that had been bestowed. The brightness disturbed her mid thought causing her to squint and she suddenly noticed a photo of them both together on the wall in their happier days. She remembered the moment that was taken. They were at her parent’s house listening to her Dad re-telling one of his many stories about his boating holiday. They were both laughing at him as they were being entertained by tales of people he’d met and the local wine that got him drunk. His one arm was around her shoulders and the other was lying gently on her bump. Instinct made her touch her own stomach but all that remained was the thick red scar. If only she knew then what she knows now. Things could have been so different.

The door burst open and two officers pounded in aiming guns at her whilst screaming to drop the knife. She was calm. The calmest she had been in years. She looked at the man she had just killed then up at the two in front of her and placed the blood stained weapon on the floor. Her bruised face and cut arms made the officers realise there was more to this than meets the eye. Her face was black from the smudged makeup she had been wearing and her bright red lipstick was across her cheek from where he had forcefully kissed her and placed his hand over as she struggled to break free.

Paramedics rushed in behind the policemen attending to the dead body and passers by were gathering in the hallway whispering to each other as they tried to find out what the commotion was about. One officer knelt down and picked up the knife, putting it into an evidence bag whilst the other, putting his gun back into his holster, handcuffed her already folded arms behind her back. He noticed the dried blood on the back of her head which had matted her hair together and saw the black and blue on her frail shoulders. He looked around the room and saw two half empty glasses next to a fallen bottle of champagne. Scarves were still tied to the bed post where she had begun her plan to seduce him. A silk black dressing gown lay gently on the floor on top of a pair of heels. He thought how amazing that moment would have been had it not been for the blood bath that followed.

Another officer appeared ushering away the small crowd gathered outside quickly sealing off the room with tape. Amongst the rush of people now in the room, something rolled from under the bed distracting the thoughts of the officer with the girl. He bent down to pick it up and noticed a gun lying under the bed as though someone had kicked it there in an attempt to hide it. He signalled to his colleague to alert him as he surveyed the small empty bottle he picked off the floor. Rohypnol. He looked at her and saw the desperation in her eyes but she didn’t say a word. She just stared into the distance. He was slowly starting to piece the scene together but there was still so much to solve.

A female officer walked over to the girl and placed a coat over her because all she had on was the matching black negligee to the gown lying on the floor. It was time for her to go. She stood up and was escorted out of her apartment into the gasps of her neighbours. Walking down the stairs and into the afternoon air, she took a long, deep breath in and out again. The officer was saying something to her but she couldn’t hear the words. She got into the car and the doors were locked. She stared aimlessly out of the window as the car moved through the traffic. She had no idea what was going to happen to her now but she knew from that moment on she would be free of him. Even if it meant spending the rest of her life in prison, she felt relieved because he was no longer around to inflict pain on her or her family. She had sacrificed her freedom for her parent’s safety. For her friends safety. But most of all, for her baby. She knew the cruel act she had committed probably won’t make her life any easier than what it has been over the years, but it would be so much easier for everyone around her because they could now move on. He was gone, her baby could rest and the scars he had inflicted could finally begin to heal.

The cell door slammed shut and she stood there for a few minutes staring back at it. What was to follow over the next days or weeks she didn’t know, but as she sat down on the hard iron bed there was only one thing left for her to do. She looked at her blood stained hands, the cuts on her arms, the bruises on her legs, and could feel the pain all over her body from where she had been thrown around by him. She did it. She couldn’t believe it, but she did it. Finally. And at that moment tears began to well up in her eyes and she smiled; and that smile would continue to remain a part of her for the rest of her life.

Sport...you either like it or you don't?

I have never been a natural athlete and sport was never my strongest subject at school. I was the one who was always the last to be picked for teams and used to dread sports day because I knew I would be publically humiliating myself even more by proving just how bad I was. I was somehow chosen to be on the Netball team when I was in lower school, probably because until I reached my teenage years I was one of the tallest in my class, but I didn’t carry on with it through middle school because I was too intimidated by the girls who joined the team.

Growing up, my family were big fans of keeping fit. My Mum used to be part of a local squash team, my Dad was an avid golfer and my brother loved football, but it was my sister who was the biggest fanatic of us all. She loved everything about sport and was a complete natural to any she tried. I remember going to watch her play netball on Sunday’s at our local sports centre and admiring how good she was. Even now when I watch her on the treadmill in the gym, I do so in awe because she makes it look so easy. For some reason though, I never took to it. I was more about playing musical instruments and singing in the choir, although I did try and get into it. I remember signing up to play tennis during school activities week one year in the hope that I would gain some confidence in the area where it was so obviously lacking, but it didn’t help. I finished the week feeling even more of an idiot than when I started!

Over the years I have tried to appreciate sport. I’ve sat with my dad while he watches the golf and listened as he explains to me what a birdie is and how you establish your handicap. I’ve watched the cricket, rugby and even a bit of football, but I just can’t find any enjoyment for it other than ogling over the fit men playing said games! I want to like it, not just because of the benefits it brings, but also because of the way it unites people.

I did participate in my biggest sporting challenge to date last year after doing at 26.2 mile walk to raise money for Cancer Research which made me realise I’m a lot more head strong that I thought. It also made me realise because I was never good at sport at school, doesn’t mean to say I will never be good at it again. I go to the gym three or four times a week and yes, it’s a mental struggle to get there, but after an hour of working out, those endorphins do make me feel so much better and that is what drives me to carry on.

I have now pledged to do at least one challenge every year in the hope I can break out of this negative cycle I am in with sport. This year I will be entering the 10k Race for Life. I did the 5k last year but power walked it so have decided to take the plunge and run this year instead. The distance doesn’t faze me, but the running does because I’m terrible at it! Thankfully, I am entering with six other friends who are already very confident runners, but they are supporting my efforts and that is spurring me on to train. Not only that, we are raising money together for a good cause so it will mean double the achievement if I can do it.

You never know, by the end of this, I could be that engrossed and fanatical with all things sport that I’m called up to do commentary for the Olympics in July…then again, maybe not!