Life and Times of Someone You Might Know


Amanda Small never really got on with her name. The fact her family name was Small was always a bit of a joke in the neighbourhood as there was no getting away from the fact that they were a family of large people.

 For as long as Amanda could remember, her name had been changed by those around her. She had been known as Mandy Moo, Amanda the Panda, Manda, Mandy and Mand. Her life story defined through each variation of her name.

 Mandy Moo, sometimes shortened to Moo had been the name her brother Rob  had given her when she was three and stayed with her through primary school. However, once she had started growing breasts,  being called Mandy Moo often came with a request to see her udders and as such lost its charm.

Once she started senior school, Amanda became Amanda the Panda and she was never sure whether this related to the fact her mascara inevitably ended up as black rings around her eyes or that she was by this time, a lot bigger than most of the girls in her class. She often felt like a giant panda throughout her early teens with her hands and feet having a mind of their own in their clumsiness.

Manda was the name her best friend Cheryl used to call her. Cheryl- little petite slim Cheryl, who with Amanda spent every dinner break  perfecting their dance routine to Donna Summer’s “ I feel love” in the girls changing rooms.

Cheryl’s choreography always involved Amanda being the ‘man’  and she sometimes wondered if that was the reason for  Cheryl’s choice of name for her. However, Amanda could understand why it had to be that way, as the routine involved her having to lift and swing Cheryl around and there was no way it could ever happen the other way round.

Mandy was the name she was given at work from day one. She was a bit surprised that anyone remembered her name at all as the first few years of her working life seemed to pass by in a cloud of invisibility and sick days. She doubts whether anyone there ever knew what her full name was or, for that matter why she was there.

Mand, this name was given to her by Gareth,  the only real boyfriend she  ever had. Gareth Jenkins came  from Tredegar. She  met him when he was stationed near Aylesbury and she thought he was gorgeous. The way he said “Cwch up Mand”  in his deep melodious  accent  felt like she was  being covered in  Galaxy milk chocolate before having it slowly licked off. It was the only time she had liked her name.

Since Gareth’s departure from her life, everything had become beige. After another uneventful weekend when the only person she spoke to was  Alexa,  Amanda decided she needed to make some changes in her life. Amanda Small had to go.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A long time away

I cannot believe that it is nearly five years since I last posted anything on this blog. In fact today I was trying to create a new blog but somehow I kept getting sent back to this site and so, I guess I am going to just carry on using it although possibly in a slightly different way. Since I last wrote anything, I have retired from work and moved with my partner to a different part of the country. The word 'retired' makes me sound so old and even though I am going to be 60 next month, I don't consider that to be old at all. If I am being honest, my enthusiasm for my work had started to ebb which in turn, caused me to worry that I was no longer being a effective or for that matter empathic in what I was doing. I found myself wanting to find solutions for people's problems and as any therapist will tell you, that isn't what it's about at all. I wonder in part whether the need to do that was because I no longer felt capable of staying with people's pain. ...
Read more

BEST BELOVED

  I can’t remember   when it was I stopped really   looking at you, but here beside me in bed, I am shocked to see that you have turned into someone old. Lying facing me, your head on the pillow, I can see how the loose flesh has distorted your face into   a melted waxwork   facsimile of someone I used to know. Your mouth, half open and relaxed, your exhalation deep and rhythmic, I can smell the night’s sleep on your breath. Your eyes closed in sleep allow me to   examine your lashes which even now, are longer than they should be on a man. Your eyebrows are barely visible as like your hair, they have turned snow white. I never knew you when you were young, but you often talk of how red your hair was and how proud you felt for it being so. The only concession to your   heritage now being the golden tinge to the hairs on your arms, and your temper when crossed. You tell me you had freckles as a child, and although your skin suggests a vulnerabili...
Read more

Cheese "Pling Plong" and the empty love bucket

I think I may have mentioned a bit about the idea of comfort cooking and comfort eating and how food can often be a way in which we have internalised early life care and nurture. For me and I suspect many others too, it is also a highly symbolic way of demonstrating love to others. If I am honest, I find it far easier to show how much I love someone by offering them something good to eat, than by telling them in words. Therefore anyone who has  ever shared a meal  in my home, or been eaten food that has been prepared  by me, be aware that that is what it meant! I am conscious that whatever I make is open to criticism and not everyone likes to eat the things I like to make.However,  if I am being really honest, it can often feel like  rejection, almost as if it is me they are saying that they dislike.  I am also aware that when I discover someone shares the same taste in food I do, I feel a real connection. It's mad, but true! I am sure that most people...
Read more