Exhausted, I drop into the next chair. Blinking into the last rays of the passing day. Soon the café will be closed. Few remaining guests. But half an hour, that’ll be possible, a coffee, not fast, alone. Read a little, put your feet up. And while I open the book, the next best thing out of my bag, there’s something, maybe not even something that makes me look up, a hunch, maybe, and the idea sits at the next table, the sun in the back, sitting there and I think that it looks nice, that hunch.
Do the hair sit? The lipstick? Oh yes, I do not wear any. My luck. I never wanted to be one of those who show their men make-up only. You have to be an early riser, and then one day, you’re already married forever, have three children born when he comes to your bed – and the terror is in his eyes. Yes, you have always looked like that, only he did not know it. Or if that was a mistake today? But how would I know in the morning that here, where nothing has ever happened, exactly at this time, I get a hunch that looks so nice.
I should have listened to my mother. „Always leave the house so that you are ready for everything, even for the great love“ – and it should fail now. Falling in love and love building and marrying and having children and bringing up children and getting children out of the house and marrying children to see them get children all because I’m wearing no lipstick that day. Was not predictable. My life should fail, so ours? The first approach and the white train on my wedding dress and the hidden arbor behind the house with the porch swing, first in pairs, then four. Maybe he also wants three children or maybe none at all. It should be two, no two. But there will also find my agreement. I would be for an alternative school. Damn, no lipstick, but maybe he likes it, of course. I’ll just behave naturally, just sit here and read relaxed, as if I had not noticed. Two children, absolutely.
Which book do I take? And not Montessori. I am more into Freinet pedagogy. This one? Or better that? No, that could be too intellectual. You always have to be careful. Men are all too easily scared of intellectual women. The arbor white painted with roses overgrown. Oh, that’s it. A gentle, light book that occupies me and yet does not scare off too easily. No lipstick. And the legs unshaven and the nails, no, the nail polish fits, reasonably, if he does not look too closely, then it fits. And what do I have? Is not overridden. Should not be too expensive. It works either as if I was spending a lot of money or had a lot of money. Can also put off. To spoil the woman. Shopping mad the woman. That fits, after all. It is so hard. There is so much to think about. Maybe I should address the children later. Is he a cavalier? Or at least well educated? Maybe he does not smoke. Oh, well then. And then, the first habituation and the normal life and the coexistence – frustration and boredom to the breaking up, and then the reconciliation and the recovery. As if you discover yourself again after decades. It already has something nice. Until the funeral. The broken widow. I’m just glad that black fits me, but I have to stay in shape. It is always to be expected that it will happen in the summer. And then no lipstick will be needed anymore, only negligent one must not be. The arbor, that would be nice – but maybe I’ll just go over and say hello, just as myself.