‘Yes, I know. I mean, what’s with the torso? It is so out of proportion, it’s almost comical. And don’t even get me started on those dead eyes. How creepy are they? But you know what bugs me most? That it’s so confused. It’s got the limbs of a woman, the chest and shoulders of a man and the face of a two-year old child. What the hell was the sculptor thinking? And who commissioned this monstrosity – Dr. Frankenstein?’
‘You’re not wrong, I guess. I meant the bracelet, though. Those are the worst kind of plastic beads.’
I love painting, but I’m rubbish at it. I don’t let it stop me. Once I get in the zone, I’m getting better. So I’m not best pleased when the doorbell rings and it’s the postie with a letter addressed to occupant that needs signing for. I mean, the cheek.
I throw it straight in the bin.
Next day, same thing.
‘Does everybody get these?’
I dangle it over the bin. I’ve already been interrupted, though, I might as well take a break. I make a cuppa, open the letter and wonder if I’ll regret it.