Every woman has her price...

Damn, I’ve torn my jeans and there was I hoping to never buy any new clothes again. Hard to believe that I once cared so much about the way I looked and what I wore that I’d spend a couple of good bottles of wine on a tie and a holiday on a suit. Long time ago now, when I was in shape, when people used to look at me.

Isn’t it strange, when you are young people look at you because you look so great, but as you age for most of us the only way to get noticed is to do just the opposite. Of course this isn’t true of everybody - Mr. Eastwood, Mr. Connery, Ms. Fonda - but even those guys would probably admit that they were easier seen when they were younger - and without their celebrity…. well, who knows.

Anyway, back to me – the subject I know most about. These days I’m almost invisible to the people that pass me in the street. Oh some may look, but not in admiration, they might see the grey cloud above my head or my grey hair and think it a trifle too long and unkempt. They might see the ordinariness of my outside - a middle aged man with a bad back becoming a shamble, beginning to fade. They might even see the different way of thinking behind my eyes, making them look and hurry away. But most see nothing. You have to know me to see me you see, and I’m not the easiest to get to know.

The thing is I say what I think. Now don’t get me wrong, I hate getting in people’s faces and will usually remain silent when I disagree, but ask me for an opinion and that is what you get. Well, you did ask. It’s got me into difficulties so many times.... Like this? No. Don’t you agree? No. That picture is awful isn’t it? No. Do you really mean that? Yes.

I like to think that I can’t be bought, but of course I can; and cheap. I’ve been cheaply bought all my life and after a while - well you either bite back or disappear. I’m not quite sure which it is yet, I’m still thinking. Cheaply bought for a kiss or a smile, a promise, a few quid, a drink or two, a child, a threat, a few tears – yes, I’m still thinking – bite back or disappear?

A woman I know in the rag trade made this manikin the other day. She saw it as a way of displaying her costume jewellery; I saw it as a work of art. She laughed when I told her, giving me that look that says ‘are you sending me up?’

“Make me an offer.” She said.

So I did.

It’s mine now. I think I got it cheap, but she seemed very happy with the price I offered, counting out the pile of twenties and smiling. I haven’t done much to change it, just moved a few brooches – a treble clef here, a fairy there. I’ve added a shattered crystal heart and a spider and of course reduced the prices on all the tickets, selling them cheap. If I find a kiss I’ll pin that to her too.

I call it: ‘Every Woman Has Her Price’.

It isn’t about women though, we all have our price - it’s just that this happens to be a female. Yes, we all have our price - and more often than not we sell ourselves cheap.

Want her? Make me a good offer and she’s yours.