a fine romance

my first affair

MY FIRST AFFAIR. Donald Simpson. 

By Aline Waites 

My Grandma was boasting about me to Aunt Olive, her cousin 

The family resemblance was slight.  My Grandma Beat had brown curly hair, was slender and could do the splits. 

Aunt Ol was magnificent and big, with jet black hair and the air of a Queen. 

She was supposedly descended from a Spanish Princess, but this was never explained to me how and when. Probably a false legend. She was a powerful woman and Beatrice always felt she had to boast a little to her. 

I had been dressed up for her. Aunt Ol always gave me something for my birthday. Usually a penny. Which she did as if dispensing largesse and we all laughed about it after she’d gone.  

My birthday was I a few days’ time. Aunt Ol never worried about being exact with dates. Nevertheless, after the dispensation of the penny, she said “you are a pretty little girl”. 

Beatrice had to reply with, “Yes isn’’t she?” and to everyone’s astonishment , “and she already has a boyfriend, haven’t you?” She said to me 

I joined in the game and nodded. Always anxious to please. 

“Look,” said Beatrice, “She’s blushing”  

Which made me blush in reality. It was a bit embarrassing. 

Aunt Ol gave a deep sexy laugh. Beatrice continued. 

“His name is Donald Simpson and he’s very special   A genius. plays the piano like a grownup person” 

Aunt Ol was suitably impressed.  

Her goodbye included the words “Good luck with the boy genius” 

Later My grandma reminded me that as II was having a party for my birthday. I should ask my ‘boyfriend’. 

By this time, even though I’d only seen him on a couple of occasions, I blushed every time his name was mentioned, and was getting quite excited about my young imaginary lover.  

“Maybe he’ll play the piano for us,” said my Mother. 

She rang up Mrs Simpson and made the arrangements. 

It all sounded very exciting. 

He seemed a little reluctant when he arrived. He wasn’t very friendly with the other children – or to me. His mother brought him in and left immediately, saying she would pick him up later. We were playing spin the bottle in the front room, but he didn’t join in, he just sat on his own in the corner. 

He came to life when tea was announced, and he came into the living room which had a huge oval table all set with wonderful food. Sandwiches of course – which had to be eaten before sweet things. But they were nice, peanut butter, ham and cheese. The kind that children like. 

Then there were the other things, cakes and buns and little pies, jellies and trifle. And in the centre of the table was The Cake. A traditional fruit cake with almond paste, white icing and my name written on the top surrounded by four candles set in rose candle holders. All ready for me to blow out at the end of the meal and I could make a wish. This was the highlight of the day. 

Donald sat himself at the table without speaking.  He hadn’t shown any interest in me at all. “That is what boys are like” I thought to myself. – already beginning to learn the oddness of the opposite sex. 

No Donald was not looking at me. His eyes were fixed on the groaning table and all the food upon it. 

It was as if he was eating for England. The food went on to his plate for just a second before it was planted into his eager mouth, chewed up and swallowed as he was reaching out for the next item. 

My mother and the other grown-ups were stunned by this amazing performance. They just looked at him as if he was some kind of zoo creature. They had never seen anything like it. 

The awareness of my position as hostess made me enquire how he was feeling and was he having a good time. He looked at me as if that was a silly question but deigned to nod his head. 

Maybe a little too violently, as this this unusual piece of exercise had an alarming effect on his body and with an enormous blappo, the mashed up contents of his huge tea spewed out all over the table cloth, and the food, missing the cake by a half inch. 

So this was the glamorous musical genius I was in love with.   The grownups rushed around to clean up the mess. The children were dismissed to the other room and Donald started bawling. 

He did a lot of loud crying. He wanted to go home, “I want my motor” he cried. His mother was telephoned and asked to remove her son. It was then I found out that Motor cars were more interesting to young blokes than nice young ladies.  

His mother came and looked at us angrily, as if we were responsible for the state of her precious son.  

The other children went back to spinning the bottle and doing forfeits.  

Donald went home to play with his Motor Car. 

Thus ended my first romance.