Vamping it up

I have talked about how I want to be the bad lady in a television soap opera many times before in this space. But what I never really spoke of is what happens when I get labelled the ‘bad lady’, without having any clue where the title came from and how I deserved it. Something of the kind is happening to me right now, and I am fairly amused by it, my feelings tinged a little by a sense of indignation at being the villain (villainess?) of the piece without my having any concept, clear or otherwise, of what the piece is, or was, and what my role in it has been. If I knew, I could enjoy it more.

It all began with a potential friendship gone off, in the way that food goes off – somewhat nasty to look at and giving off the gentle pong of something that should be consigned to the bin asap, using a pair of long tongs or a clothespin on the nose approach. I did write about that whole bit of ick in my life, and had forgotten, for the most part, all about it. It was one of those ships in the night scenarios that are best not even having been known when it was, the moment it existed, if you know what I mean. But, while it was fun, as long as it lasted, the idiocy and wastefulness of energy, time and interest that it involved then left behind a brief regret even as it faded into nothingness. (Do I protest too much? No, actually, I was trying to spin this blog out a bit, which is why I am going on so!)

Be that as it may and all that good stuff – my life has not changed in any way after that little blip, and I don’t expect it to now. But what I do find is that I am the baddie for the moment. All those who watched and waited avidly for more are now seemingly seeing me as the perpetrator of whatever crime left the relationship – for lack of any other more suitable word – in a certain black hole. Which means that an entire section of the place I work at is not talking to me, not even smiling in my direction. Which is okay, except for the minor fact that most of these people have known me for a good ten or more years, and have never yet missed out on the opportunity to stop and chat, never mind that I am bogged to the ears and keyboard with deadlines and page-making programs. Now, almost all of them walk past, eyes firmly forward, as if I was some kind of bad smell.

In a strange way, that is fine, too. My problem is not being ignored or snubbed; it is the lack of an appropriate image for me in this whole picture. I am not dressed or made up for it, which annoys me rather. As I was telling my irascible boss and my best-bud this morning, I need a slim-fit red velvet gown, slit up to above the thigh, long black satin gloves, a jewelled cigarette holder, spiky perilous heels, a bouffant up-do held by a diamante flower pin, lots of eye black and red lipstick and some tastefully scattered diamonds of the very expensive kind. We are still debating the virtues of fishnet tights and a frilled garter. That, in my opinion, would be tarty.

I have the heels, the make-up and a soupcon of the sparkly stuff. The rest…well…when I acquire it, I can play my part to perfection. Until then you, like me, will have to wait and watch how the story pans out and how far upwards the TRPs will swoop.