Sweet Amber Eyes

Again Granny Connie inspired ' Sweet Amber Eyes' s. She worked in an architect’s office and every day one architect would pass her desk and comment ‘you have the most heavenly southern apexes and glorious northern aspects’. What a chat up line! When she told me this anecdote, her eyes would sparkle like a young girl’s.

The joy for me as a writer, is the reaction I get when people read my work. The reaction from this story, however - has perplexed me a little, for they ask the question ‘did you really get stuck in the window?’ I would like to think this is because my writing is realistic, though it is more likely the fact that I have found myself in similar predicaments and my friends are only too used to it all.

Both Granny Connie and Grace are no longer with us, but their spirit; I like to think are in
my words.
Sweet Amber Eyes: -

I’ve always wondered how potholers pot hole; What I mean is, how do they move their bodies? Do they alter their breathing to manoeuvre and navigate out of the tight situations they must find themselves in? At this present moment in time this information would be jolly handy to know. Come to think of it; they must know by experience what size hole their bum will fit. I on the other hand, may put a pair of jeans on and think, will my bum fit into these, but I don’t normally navigate through small spaces.

You see, I seem to be stuck in my kitchen window. The crates I was standing on have fallen away and I’m just left dangling here. Grace is wining again; Grace being my dog and any minute soon the builders will return I shouldn’t wonder, knowing my luck. They forgot to replace my keys in the allotted plant pot so I could get back in after our walk; I looked at the window and thought; I should just be able to climb in. I soon found out that windows don’t stretch like jeans do.

My face is hot with exhaustion. Being of short stature with legs of the same proportion, I’m finding it difficult to swing them anywhere to give me a little extra grip to heave my rather rotund, motherly body through the now knowingly too small hole. My southern aspects sag in the outer extremities for the entire world to see.

Out of the reflection of the window I can see Grace’s face. A little bemused over her owner’s predicament, though I have to confess she is rather used to my behaviour, though is kind enough not to make too much fuss. She takes herself off to the back door again, leans her head upon the first step, whines and waits for my next move.

As I’m dangling here contemplating whether breathing in would lift my rib cage enough for me to lever myself a little farther into the window or could I unhook my prized appendages; which are now stuck due to the fact my bra has latched itself onto the hook of the window catch and fall to the ground. Indeed could my rib cage take the weight of my bulk? Grace interrupts my contemplations with her bark that signals the arrival of a vehicle.

With a heavy groan I brace my self for the next event of this day. She scampers around to the side gate barks and races back to the back door. This is a little odd, as she always comes back to my side, enough to say, did you realise there is someone at the door? I feel sure my face is now the colour of beetroot when boiled for a fortnight. The extra exertion and embarrassment is not conducive to my mood, which was pretty bad this morning and is now at such steaming point that I could alone produce enough power to light up a small town.

Alas not enough force to break free from my humiliating situation. Grace starts scratching the door and before I can engage my brain I shout at her to stop, drawing the attention of the two builders, builders mate, postman and would you believe it the milk man, who incidentally, is late! Grace is now scratching the door with vigour, as I fear my humiliation is about to go public.

Thankful that my audience are all male and that they don’t immediately concern themselves with the fact that something was out of place. Having enough presence of mind; after my little outburst, I place the herb pot in front of my offending curving mounds of my best kept secret. They look at me, but busy in conversation can’t see my problem, so giving me a little extra scramble time with a vain hope to set myself free.

Alas Stephen’s eyes keep fixed on me and as I try to smile at him, he could not quite take in the sights that befell his widening eyes. Unfortunately his mind processed what his eyes were telling him and rushed to my aid via the back door. The door I had locked? The one that Grace had been whining at before I got stuck and the one she had been frantically scratching on. My head cleared the mists of confusion and I met the warm amber eyes, like soft sweet toffee, which held a tinge of humour to them saying I told ya it was open. My faithful and intelligent soul mate panted at me with concern from inside the kitchen.

I can’t convey my reaction, as there are not enough expletives to do full justice to my thoughts. Stephen’s burly arms wrap around my form. The others still hadn’t realised that something was an awry. My prize appendages are finally released and my northern aspects thank heavens, have only been seen by one. Red faced, I thank Stephen for his help. I hear his soft chuckle and I’m grateful for his restraint, which I know I would be incapable of, if the roles had been reversed.

A lick of comfort was the best medicine and with that lick came the ability to see the humour of it all. I lean down and give my wise girl a well-earned pat, as I lovingly promise to listen to her in future.