Sitting pretty

WARNING: any similarity to any person, real or fictional, is intentional. If you recognize yourself, - tough!Learn to keep your big mouth shut, or go for the copy right.

With this being said, I also have to add that anything bearing any resemblance to a short story that appears on my blog, is most likely a work of fiction and that it in various degrees ONLY borrows from real people's characters and real people's stories. I can't write about the Zulu Warriors, when unfortunately I've never met one. I can imagine them quite clearly (as many women do in the privacy of their bedrooms). I can't transfer that onto my blog for two reasons: first, the fiction will be quite X-rated; second, someone somewhere would find it either: a) ignorant, b) insulting and politically incorrect, c) downright dumb. I'd be endlessly corrected by people who met Zulus or are Zulus. Who likes to wear their ignorance on their sleeve? Not me, for sure. That greatest author of all times, Jo of The Little Women, was my writing tutor, you know, and she said it most eloquently: write of what and whom you know. Well, perhaps, Sitting Pretty is a bit closer to the reality, hehehe, just to follows Jo's advice... **** Thanks, respected Editor. I hope you'll appreciate the changes, and I hope this little aside makes sense. Not to mention, that I hope you'll find incredibly witty and well turned out. Ah, vanity, thine name is Goatess.



Hye-jin, a foreign language instructor at a respected Korean university, is an opinionated, articulate, well-educated woman. She's also young. Well, by some standards, anyway. By Korean standards, being well into her thirties, she should have been married a long time ago. Her married friends, especially, are of this opinion, and for years they have been trying to help her 'find happiness' by setting her up on a number of blind dates.

After a string of disasterous attempts, she decided not to humour her friends anymore, politely but firmly declining to meet any more of the ajoshis in stiff suits, with stiff hair and even stiffer brains underneath. The two most cherished traits in aKorean bachellor - having his own apartment, away from a bustling mother-in-law, and a job secured for lifetime - just don't cut it for Hye-jin. She wants someone extraordinary, someone to love completely, body and soul, and if she can't find him, then be it - she'll be single, reading her books, writing her essays and marking her students' papers.

Alas, one of her friends happens to be a busybody who just won't take no for an answer. After nagging Hye-jin for a long time, she finally gets her to agree to meet "this one last perfect guy."

They meet at a coffee shop. Hye-jin, not keeping her hopes up and wanting to get this thing over with, shows up looking appropriately spruced up for the ocassion, but a far cry from the dolled-up "Korean-lady-on-the-first-date style" - no dangling glitzy earrings, no painful shoes, and just a dab of gloss on her lips. The guy wears a black suit and mournful tie.

But, she likes him. A lot, actually. He is easy on the eyes, tall, with perfect gentle manners and a great smile. Throughout the evening she discovers that he is also very smart and very passionate about his career in urban planning. He encourages her to share her opinion about bullet cities and the new subway to the Incheon airport - and she, warmed by the coffee and the liquid shine of his eyes, gives him her two pence on the issue. Heck, she gives him her monthly salary.

As their second cup arrives, he starts talking about a famous Korean philosopher, a follower of Juergen Habermass and a newly appointed professor of philosophy at a famous German university. Suspecting his intent to impress her with the wide range of his 'extracurricular' interests, Hye-jin obliges him, simply sits pretty, not saying a whole lot, taking delight in the way his lips move revealing two rows of neat white teeth. "What it'd be like to kiss him?" - she wonders, then tries to chase such thoughts away. In vain: a bottle of warm liquid pops open deep inside her, and like thick ink slowly spreads to her extremities, warming up her fingers and toes and settling as deep blush on her face.


She savours her silence and the sensation she gets watching him. No need to steal his philosophical thunder, she thinks, choosing not to mention - for now - that during her sojourn in Europe, she had interviewed the celelebrated sage and subsequently published an article based on the interview. Soon, he seems to have exhausted the topic. He motions for the check, then pays and suggests that it's late and that they should leave. It's barely eleven, not late by Korean standards. Although she's surprised, she doesn't object. She knows that he lives very far away in one of the bullet cities he so strongly believes in.

An hour later, Hye-jin, still atingle with the excitement and rumminating over the possibilities, (could he be 'the one') recieves a phone call from the friend who set her up on the date. Instead of the regular "hello", the friend says:

- "You are very intelligent."
- "What?" - Hye-jin is confused.
- "He said, you're very intelligent, " the friend repeats.
- "Oh, great." Hye-jin's heart leaps up to her throat. Finally someone who can appreciate.............
-..........(Her friend is silent, too silent, actually. A cloud of doubt starts colouring Hye-jin's sunny thoughts)
She asks hesitantly: "It's a compliment...isn't it?"
-"No, you idiot. It's not a compliment. You are TOO intelligent!
-"I don't understand. I thought we were having a good convers...."
-"You don't understand?! You scared him by going on and on about urban planning and philosophy? Why couldn't you just sit pretty and listen to THE MAN?

-"But, I did listen.... And I didn't talk about philosophy - he did!" - Hye-jin is deffensive and getting angry at herself for it.

-"Oh, enough of you. Why do I even bother with you?! Go to bed and *&^%$$%^ (bleep-bleep) your philosophers." She hangs up.

Hye-jin stands stiff with the phone to her ear. The harshness of her friend's words seem to have drilled a hole in her ear through which she can hear her own heart, beating wildly, as if coming out of the recieiver, not her own chest.

She presses the red "end" button and drops the phone genlty into her handbag. Then she walks over to her work desk, takes a bunch of students' papers out of her briefcase and sits down to work. For two hours she marks dilligently. At 2:00 a.m. she moves to her bedroom. At 2:02, her light is out. Lying on her desk, finally abandoned, sit the papers, welted casualties of her red pen.