Visions Of Utopia
Entry by: retiring
16th March 2022
Hour of Writes Marion Foreman
16.03.2022
Visions of Utopia
She sipped her coffee. She was, as always, early. She had never achieved the ‘coolness’ of being a bit late. And anyway, today she was optimistic. This was going to be a good meeting she kept telling herself. That’s what all the books said wasn’t it? They said if you kept positive and believed then all would be well. Admittedly she had not had a great deal of success to date with this approach. Some of the dates had been, at best, unremarkable and some had been positively catastrophic. Could you be positively catastrophic she wondered? She would look that up when she got back in.
But this one would be different she felt sure. She had an image in her head of how he would be. She wasn’t naïve, she knew that the photo on his contact page wouldn’t be how he really was – but close enough would do. She could manage if he was a bit older, a bit fatter, not quite as dashing. All she really needed was for him to share her ideas on what life could be like. She knew, she just knew, that the life she had planned was idyllic and all that it needed was the right person.
She had tried to persuade men in the past that this life was the one that they were looking for too – but they were so silly that they couldn’t see it and didn’t agree with her. Inevitably they had left. More fool them.
This time it would be different. This time she would go more slowly and this time she wouldn’t tell him the whole story. There was no need to mention how many children she wanted on their first date was there? She would even consider asking them what they wanted in life – but really there was only one way ahead – one ideal way that she was ready to strive for.
She caught sight of him as he came into the pub. She had grown used to sitting in the right seat to watch the door. He was short but that was OK – at five foot two she was hardly what you might call tall. His clothes weren’t smart but she could easily change that as she could the dreadful haircut. She waved and beckoned him over.
‘Hello’ she said (straight in, positive actions, she knew her moves) – ‘you must be Tom. I’m Molly – good to meet you. I’ve got your drink in ready – I know you like IPA – here’s a pint of the stuff’. She had done her background checks – she knew what he liked – she was ready.
‘Let’s get down to business straight away shall well?’ she rambled on – not really looking at him and therefore not seeing the look of bewilderment on his face. ‘I thought we could go back to my place tonight and get cosied up – just check that we fit together – I think we will be fine. I’ll cook supper and you can make sure you’re happy with my kitchen skills. There’s plenty in the fridge for breakfast – so don’t worry about that. I’ve got spare toothbrushes. Where do you work? Nowhere much if you’ve come straight from work in those clothes. I run my own business but you know that from our online chat don’t you? I get the newspaper delivered – you do read The Guardian don’t you? Of course you do – I would never have been so open if I thought you were a Tory. They’re in a real mess aren’t they? Now, where was I? Oh yes, off to work tomorrow then pop round your place, pick up a few things and move in – job done. Let me get you another drink.’
She drew breath. Tom also breathed in but his moment as gone. Molly launched into round two of the grand plan. ‘Come the weekend we can do a bit in the garden – of course, you can have your say. It will be your domain – I’ll run the house and you can do the car and the garden – I’m all in favour of blue jobs and pink jobs aren’t you? That’s how my parents did it – what about yours? Silly me – talking about parents so soon – we will be talking about children next!’
Tom held up his hands but she appeared not to notice, just ploughing right on with her vision.
‘Now I don’t want to scare you but we don’t have much time’ she said and Tom looked at his watch. ‘Oh darling, you are so funny’ she chortled ‘you know I mean that we are getting on and the old biological clock is ticking. Whoops! There I go again – silly me. My mother always said that my tongue ran away with me. Do you like oral sex? I give good blow jobs, so I’m told. Not that it really gets me anywhere but its all part of the service. Imagine that – blow jobs whenever you want – isn’t that just your idea of heaven?’
He wasn’t saying much – in fact he hadn’t said anything but she was staying positive – she wasn’t letting her idea of perfect slip away again. This time she was going to nail it.
Tom shifted uncomfortably on his seat. ‘Don’t worry sweetie, you won’t feel trapped. We will need to get married as that’s always been part of my ideal plan, but you will still be able to see your mates. I won’t hold you back. I hope you were honest about your salary in the chat – we will have to manage without mine,’ she rambled on.
Tom cleared his throat as if he was going to speak. Molly held her breath – she knew, she just knew, that this was the moment when all her dreams came true. It’s when he would turn to look into her eyes and tell her that he loved her. That he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. Her utopian world was just about to begin.
‘Um, I’m sorry, I came in here to meet my wife’ he blurted out, looking uncomfortable. ‘And you have,’ she almost shouted, ‘here I am, ready for you to claim’.
‘No, my real wife. My name’s John, I’m not Tom’ he stuttered, looking completely flummoxed.
‘You’re not Tom from the internet? You’ve not come here to meet me? You don’t love me? You don’t want to marry me and have children?’ she was crying now. ‘You’re all the same. Lead a woman on and then drop her. I hate you. All of you.’ She picked up her bag and left, not even noticing the tall, neatly dressed man with a trendy haircut and well-trimmed beard sitting at the bar, gazing at the scene that had unfolded. Not sure if he had had a lucky escape or just missed the best chance he had of achieving perfect happiness.
16.03.2022
Visions of Utopia
She sipped her coffee. She was, as always, early. She had never achieved the ‘coolness’ of being a bit late. And anyway, today she was optimistic. This was going to be a good meeting she kept telling herself. That’s what all the books said wasn’t it? They said if you kept positive and believed then all would be well. Admittedly she had not had a great deal of success to date with this approach. Some of the dates had been, at best, unremarkable and some had been positively catastrophic. Could you be positively catastrophic she wondered? She would look that up when she got back in.
But this one would be different she felt sure. She had an image in her head of how he would be. She wasn’t naïve, she knew that the photo on his contact page wouldn’t be how he really was – but close enough would do. She could manage if he was a bit older, a bit fatter, not quite as dashing. All she really needed was for him to share her ideas on what life could be like. She knew, she just knew, that the life she had planned was idyllic and all that it needed was the right person.
She had tried to persuade men in the past that this life was the one that they were looking for too – but they were so silly that they couldn’t see it and didn’t agree with her. Inevitably they had left. More fool them.
This time it would be different. This time she would go more slowly and this time she wouldn’t tell him the whole story. There was no need to mention how many children she wanted on their first date was there? She would even consider asking them what they wanted in life – but really there was only one way ahead – one ideal way that she was ready to strive for.
She caught sight of him as he came into the pub. She had grown used to sitting in the right seat to watch the door. He was short but that was OK – at five foot two she was hardly what you might call tall. His clothes weren’t smart but she could easily change that as she could the dreadful haircut. She waved and beckoned him over.
‘Hello’ she said (straight in, positive actions, she knew her moves) – ‘you must be Tom. I’m Molly – good to meet you. I’ve got your drink in ready – I know you like IPA – here’s a pint of the stuff’. She had done her background checks – she knew what he liked – she was ready.
‘Let’s get down to business straight away shall well?’ she rambled on – not really looking at him and therefore not seeing the look of bewilderment on his face. ‘I thought we could go back to my place tonight and get cosied up – just check that we fit together – I think we will be fine. I’ll cook supper and you can make sure you’re happy with my kitchen skills. There’s plenty in the fridge for breakfast – so don’t worry about that. I’ve got spare toothbrushes. Where do you work? Nowhere much if you’ve come straight from work in those clothes. I run my own business but you know that from our online chat don’t you? I get the newspaper delivered – you do read The Guardian don’t you? Of course you do – I would never have been so open if I thought you were a Tory. They’re in a real mess aren’t they? Now, where was I? Oh yes, off to work tomorrow then pop round your place, pick up a few things and move in – job done. Let me get you another drink.’
She drew breath. Tom also breathed in but his moment as gone. Molly launched into round two of the grand plan. ‘Come the weekend we can do a bit in the garden – of course, you can have your say. It will be your domain – I’ll run the house and you can do the car and the garden – I’m all in favour of blue jobs and pink jobs aren’t you? That’s how my parents did it – what about yours? Silly me – talking about parents so soon – we will be talking about children next!’
Tom held up his hands but she appeared not to notice, just ploughing right on with her vision.
‘Now I don’t want to scare you but we don’t have much time’ she said and Tom looked at his watch. ‘Oh darling, you are so funny’ she chortled ‘you know I mean that we are getting on and the old biological clock is ticking. Whoops! There I go again – silly me. My mother always said that my tongue ran away with me. Do you like oral sex? I give good blow jobs, so I’m told. Not that it really gets me anywhere but its all part of the service. Imagine that – blow jobs whenever you want – isn’t that just your idea of heaven?’
He wasn’t saying much – in fact he hadn’t said anything but she was staying positive – she wasn’t letting her idea of perfect slip away again. This time she was going to nail it.
Tom shifted uncomfortably on his seat. ‘Don’t worry sweetie, you won’t feel trapped. We will need to get married as that’s always been part of my ideal plan, but you will still be able to see your mates. I won’t hold you back. I hope you were honest about your salary in the chat – we will have to manage without mine,’ she rambled on.
Tom cleared his throat as if he was going to speak. Molly held her breath – she knew, she just knew, that this was the moment when all her dreams came true. It’s when he would turn to look into her eyes and tell her that he loved her. That he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. Her utopian world was just about to begin.
‘Um, I’m sorry, I came in here to meet my wife’ he blurted out, looking uncomfortable. ‘And you have,’ she almost shouted, ‘here I am, ready for you to claim’.
‘No, my real wife. My name’s John, I’m not Tom’ he stuttered, looking completely flummoxed.
‘You’re not Tom from the internet? You’ve not come here to meet me? You don’t love me? You don’t want to marry me and have children?’ she was crying now. ‘You’re all the same. Lead a woman on and then drop her. I hate you. All of you.’ She picked up her bag and left, not even noticing the tall, neatly dressed man with a trendy haircut and well-trimmed beard sitting at the bar, gazing at the scene that had unfolded. Not sure if he had had a lucky escape or just missed the best chance he had of achieving perfect happiness.
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