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NEWSLETTERS THE LIKES OF WHICH WE DON'T MAKE ANYMORE AND WHICH HAVE NEVER BEEN DONE BEFORE - 04/11/22
Patricia is the ne plus ultra.
Last Tuesday, as I was leaving for my kundalini yoga session, with succulent Japanese cakes under my arm, all happy and perky, a guy ran into me at the end of Beaurepaire street, just before arriving at Place de la République. I was 1000 leagues away from thinking I'd be mugged, as I was on my way to spiritual ecstasy before going on to bodily ecstasy, as I was following on with a blind date organized by a friend concerned about my sexual appetite in an advanced state of decay. I was bubbling along in totally unbridled serenity when a man I didn't see appear out of nowhere charged at me. I immediately defended myself by pushing him away. This led to insults in English. I was so stunned that I didn't understand all of it, but basically he told me to go f%£* my mother.
Stunned by his uncommon aggressiveness, I hesitated to go up to him and take a swing at him. Just to teach him some manners. And then I saw that he didn't have the eyes of a normal guy, that he was high on something super-powerful and that he kept plunging his hand into a bag while staring at me. What was it? Was it a knife? A pistol? A taser? A container of acid ready to disfigure my Kate Moss like face? I was ready to make contact, to teach this hysteric some manners, but something told me that my life was at stake and that it might be better to turn tail and hope to enjoy what was on the horizon, and that included devouring my Japanese cakes filled with wasabi chantilly. I resumed my journey, shaken but he began to chase me, to overtake me and block my way.
I had no choice now, I had to face it. I didn't care if I had to lose my nails or my teeth. I took off my shoes and got ready to slide across the asphalt of the square to get between his legs and give him a good, hard punch in the guts. But as I began my move, I finally saw what he had in his handbag: an oversized sex toy with which he tried to hit me on the head, then the face. He was really trying to hurt me, looking for the fatal blow. He was much bigger than me, more powerful. I was scared for my life, so scared that I grabbed my boot ready to kick him in the occipital bone. But before I could fire my shot, I was stopped by a hand, that of my yoga teacher. Ajay, my darling 88-year-old teacher, who stopped this ridiculous fight dead in its tracks with a single movement of his index finger. What impressive physical strength for this Jean d'Ormesson of yogattitude! He pulled us away from each other and demanded that we express ourselves, that we engage in dialogue. And since it was the other man who had attacked me, he was asked to explain himself right away.
That's when he burst into tears before launching into a tirade of apologies. He stood up to hug me but was immediately put back down by my yogi. I should have felt compassion for him, full of snot, but I was still in shock at such a display of violence against me when I was a daffodil of peace. Finally, after much stammering, he began to explain why he wanted to hurt me, quite simply because he was frustrated at not being able to wear Blanchet shoes. He was a good size 46 and that was no reason to exclude him from the joy of wearing Patricias. He didn't care if I made men's models or just women's plus sizes, as long as he could parade around in Blanchet. I walked away to cry too, to explode at so many mixed emotions. .He didn't care if I made men's models or just plus sizes for women, as long as he could parade through the streets in Blanchet.I walked away to cry too, to explode at so many intertwined emotions.After recovering from my emotions, enclosed in Ajay's arms, I approached my attacker to listen calmly and finally understand his request.With my shock and heartbeat subsiding, my vision became clear again and I could see that the man who wanted to hurt me out of distress was in fact a very handsome, not disgusting little guy and in a moment of temporary madness, I saw myself asking him what he was doing this evening because after all he was perhaps more handsome than my blind date.Fortunately my yogi calmed my ardour, knowing my appetite for bad company, and I was able to attend his class during which he kept winking at me and flicking his tongue at me, convinced that he had saved me from a perilous situation.
I found it really good, so I'm sharing it with you:
