MOVE YOUR BUTT

This bit of nonsense was written in response to a friend who thought I'd gone too long without writing something. I was feeling lethargic, it was too much trouble to put the brain in gear. 

Deep discussions would take place. I was told if I didn't get cracking I would lose it altogether. I took no notice, until one day my pal lost her cool and shouted 'Come on, Val.... MOVE YOUR BUTT!' That did it. I think I wrote it inside half an hour. Anything to shut her up! 

MOVE YOUR BUTT 

‘Val… move your butt!’

I stopped dead, wondering if the remark had been directed at me. Twisting round I saw three men in green overalls leaning against the bus shelter, paint brushes in their hands, several paint pots in a row beside them. They were grinning as if I was an object of amusement. I bristled at their nerve. Why didn’t they get on with their work and stop harassing women?

Annoyed, I tossed a lock of hair out of my face and strutted off. If I hurried I could still make the eleven o’clock train. Reaching the corner I waited at the pedestrian crossing for the lights to change.

‘Val… move your butt!’

The audacity of those men! 

Momentarily forgetting the time, I spun round, glared ferociously at the laughing trio. One man held his sides as he laughed. I guessed he was the one doing the shouting. I stormed up to him and cuffed his arm. ‘Would you mind telling me why you’re being so damn rude?’ I asked, hoping there was enough sarcasm to penetrate his infantile brain.

He looked me square in the eyes but didn’t reply. Merely grinned and shook his head. Even in my anger I couldn’t help noticing his deep blue eyes and slightly lopsided sensual mouth. 

‘Hey up, Missus, don’t look too long at Tom or you’ll be under his spell. E’s got a way with women. Sends ‘em silly with them cheeky eyes.’

I adopted a haughty posture and glowered at the speaker, a short red haired man with freckles and a jagged scar on his cheek. ‘Do you have to do his talking for him as well?’ I enquired acidly.

‘Nah. Missus, but Tom’s lost ‘is voice, see. I’m actin’ as spokesman.’

I glanced at Tom, foolishly pleased that he hadn’t been the culprit. He really was quite delectable, I thought, as he winked almost secretly. I flushed with something akin to delight.

Behind him the spokesman sniggered and nudged the third man who was so thin he looked as though a good dinner wouldn’t go amiss. ‘You wouldn’t believe me, ‘Arry, well you can see ‘Tom’s method for yourself. You might learn a thing or two.’

The third man, obviously unsuccessful with women, beamed with pleasure as he gazed at Tom. 

At that moment, Tom dropped his paintbrush and stepped towards me. His smile was cultivated, designed to trap a member of the opposite sex. Me! Curiously I smiled back, the time and the train completely forgotten. Taking my arm, he guided me to the railings opposite the bus shelter. I felt bewitched as his face drew close to mine and in a faint voice asked me my name.

‘Valerie,’ I whispered. 

And then it dawned on me … not one of the men could have told me to move my butt since they didn’t know my name. Suddenly mystified, I was about to question Tom when he pointed up to a window of the house behind the railings. It must be his house, I thought, becoming uneasy. It was obviously a bedroom window. 

Sanity returned and I decided to get the hell out of there. Cursing my stupidity I pushed him away and took my first steps towards the traffic lights. What in heaven’s name had I been thinking of, hanging around bloody painters just because one of them had a captivating smile.

‘Val… move your butt!’

Sweeping round, I raised my hand to hit him. He was where I’d left him, arm raised, still pointing to the window, I looked up then and saw what he was pointing at. Strutting on a perch inside the open window was an African Grey. A parrot! While I stared at the bird it began chanting in a very realistic voice:

‘Val… move your butt!’

‘Val… move your butt!’

‘Val… move your butt!’

That was a year ago, nine months before Tom and I got married. We never did discover who the other Val was, but we’re still laughing.

Valerie