The Help

There are books that I will never read. ‘The Help’ is one of them. Not only because nothing about it appeals to me but more because I too have memories of domestic helpfulness.

The guy, Fish Fingers, had me at his chat up line in a bar. “Alright Gorgeous! Fancy coming back to my place for fish fingers and a fuck?” I was neither Gorgeous or sober enough for sex but how did he know that fish fingers were my favourite food? But he looked like Mr Bean. Then he did a manic frog leap dance across the floor and I knew it was fate. So we dated and it was very….English. We went to football games together and he quoted Monty Python or Moore and Cook. I pretended that I got it when really we were more of a Dynasty / Cosby Show type of household. He travelled and partied a lot which suited me as I had time to meet up with people who knew who Cockroach and Theo were. It was perfect.

Then one day I was with my cousin Bola and she wanted a certain snack from his next business trip to the UK. We weren’t too far from his flat and I knew he wasn’t leaving ’til later that day so we dropped in. The pull of Walkers Crisps.

The door man, recognising me despite only seeing me when I was very very drunk, let me in. At the front door the maid quickly ushered us in. She said he was still in bed which, was a little weird as it was after midday but she was sure he wouldn’t mind if I woke him up. She gave me a conspiratorial grin and I went in leaving Bola in the lounge.

I considered pulling a cheeky crawl into bed with him move and called out his name. That was strange, either the bed was very lumpy or he had doubled in size overnight. Did he buy a dog? I called his name again and he jumped out of the bed muttering shit and fuck as I saw another head peak out from underneath the duvet, squeal, then duck back under. If it was a dog it had relaxed hair and smudged mascara.

Now there comes a time in every girls life when you ask yourself what would you do if ever you caught him with another woman. But as he led me back into the hallway I calmly told him what  flavour Walkers Bola needed from his trip. He was sweating. I was smiling. He was nervous, I was calmly pretending the most important thing to me was whether to salt and vinegar or cheese and onion. I can’t lie, the sight of him sweating in case I got all ghetto on his arse was a little bit delicious. But no, I didn’t fancy wrestling with a naked girl whose lumpy side of the bed suggested she was bigger than me.

We made our way to the door and I tripped over what could only be described as a discount shoe. As we were leaving I saw a smug smile on the lips of the maid and I figured she too must have tripped over the shoes and realised he was playing away. My shoes were legendary! So much for sisterhood.

He never did bring the promised snacks and as I consoled myself with burger patties, beans and chips my second favourite meal I figured that was probably a good thing because who knows where his fishy fingers had been on that trip

So be warned my precious. The help is not always that helpful. Or maybe a little too helpful?

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