I am rarely surprised. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because I’ve had the internet for more years than I care to admit. Let’s just say I remember dial-up and I seem to remember having orgasms when we got a computer with one megabyte of memory. I’ve watched the internet change from a place where only techy nerd types hang out to a huge global network of information exchange, porn, shopping, porn, entertainment, porn, social media, porn, education and porn. I think I’ve seen pretty much everything there is to see in the world via the internet; some of which I wish I could erase from the memory banks, but Mr Trish will vouch for this, I rarely forget anything. Apparently the crap my brain retains is frightening, so it’s no surprise that once, many years ago when testing out my newly acquired web camera on Netmeeting (remember that?) I was confronted with a very naked man doing something rather unspeakable to himself with an object and this image has remained branded into my brain some twenty years later. To be fair even without my endless pit of a memory I think most people would remember that.
Of course there’s a whole discussion around why people feel the need to waggle their genitals at people via the internet. Is it narcissism, exhibitionism or the thrill of anonymity? I even had one particularly sad, lonely man offer to set me up in an apartment on the condition I paddled his arse and humiliated him once a week. I declined his kind offer. I can’t imagine what place that particular career choice would take on my Curriculum Vitae. The thing is the gentleman who made me this offer was probably a perfectly average chap, working in a perfectly normal (high paid) job with a nice little family squirrelled away somewhere. Who knows what hides behind the innocent veneer of respectability? I feel quite inadequate in comparison to some people’s peculiarities. Getting turned on by a lovely cross stitch pattern or having a moment over Hugh Jackman is hardly going to see me labelled as the 21st Century’s Marquis de Sade.
So what’s the point of this little meander? Well as I said I’m rarely shocked. I’m often bemused, amused, furious and incredulous but shock, well it takes a lot to illicit that response from me. Some might think this makes me super cynical or jaded. I’m not honestly. I do marvel daily at the wonders on this tiny planet. I do sit and ponder our place in the universe but usually this is too much like hard work and I’ll have a glass/bottle or 3 of wine and watch Peter Gabriel on YouTube instead. Our house is for sale at the moment and I’m sure this was welcomed with a huge sigh of relief by our immediate neighbours, no more will they hear the wails of me pissed at 2am howling along to ‘Mercy Street’ or Husband playing ‘Biko’ on guitar. I’m quite amazed they haven’t all had a whip-a-round to buy the place just so they can see the back of us. I’m pretty sure we scared the living crap out of the whole street one night after a rather earnest rendition of Pink Floyd’s ‘Astronomy Domini’. Still, at least we weren’t shooting out street lights that night, I say we, I mean the husband and his son, but that’s a completely different story.
Yesterday I can safely say that I had the breath damn near shocked out of my body.
I am very used to the morning greeting by Holly and Fred; lots of snot, wagging, jumping up and squeals of delight that their human didn’t die in the night. However Fred was unusually quiet. The little shit had obviously been planning a new greeting. He sat crouched on his bed. I got a sly look from him and within a second he’d leapt vertically from the bed, to a chair and like a flea leapt again with a screaming yowl and landed on my back; a blur of whipping tail, teeth, slobber and fur. Holly freaked out and wet herself in the panic. I sneezed, screamed and farted and nearly added to the river of piddle in the kitchen. What the hell prompted this new morning greeting I have no idea but the moral of the story? Beware the silent crouching innocent puppy, there’s a freaky Ninja lurking inside.