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I met a woman who told me that she was an “outcast” amongst the women.

She was certain that she knew the reasons.

She said: Well, I’m divorced

I nodded.

She continued: I smoke

I nodded again.

And, I don’t have time for shit. I don’t pretend!

I was intrigued. 

I thought about it as I was standing in the rain outside my daughter’s school one afternoon. I looked around at the many divorced people exchanging smiles, some of them smoking in the shade while chatting to other non-smokers who seemed to like them anyway.

As the kids ran to their respective parents, I wondered about the divorced, smoking loner and what made her combination of the three deadly sins of likability so formidable?

I was intrigued. 

When we met again, all the women were standing in the kitchen, happily talking away. There was lots of talk about school, creative projects, work, ex-husbands, marijuana, travel, bikini waxing and Nespresso. A good mix of chit chat to cater for everyone’s taste. I enjoyed that everyone was so positive, and that talking about potholes, politics and crime were low on the agenda.

I looked through a small, frilly kitchen curtain to see if the kids were okay. The back of sexy woman caught my eye. It was the divorced smoker. Our very own loner.

I jumped on the kitchen counter, next to the scary family cat (cringe) to take a closer look. She was wearing heavy makeup, a mini skirt and sky high heels, her belly button was pierced, she had a bottle of beer in her hand and she had all the guys around the barbecue laughing hysterically.

I was intrigued. 

I looked at the moms in the kitchen. In contrast, all of them had on flats, no makeup and loose clothes.

I was intrigued.

I fell sort of in the middle. I was wearing my standard bright red lip (so 50% makeup) a flowy maxi skirt & a bustier (so 50% tarty) with wedges (so 50% high heels).

I was a bridge. 

I approached the barbecue with caution : Hey, we could use another pair of hands in the kitchen. She replied: Nah! I am not in the mood for the nagging bitches club today. All you guys do is moan moan moan moan. All the men laughed out loud, one of them giving her a high five. Yes, someone’s husband gave that high five.

I reflected as I walked away.

I realised that she right about one thing: she was indeed an outcast.  What she was not right about were the “reasons” she was one.

She was not a victim of her circumstances. She was the creator.

A happy one.

So, I stopped being intrigued.

I decided I would leave her to finish her own story and I canned the bridge ambition pronto.

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and http://www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

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