Just For The Record

Hi, I’m –
Hi, I’m –
Hi, I’m - … a wreck.

God.
Don’t cry. Don’t let your makeup run.

Hi, I’m… Don’t frown. Don’t purse lips. Don’t pace!

Hi, I’m… Don’t stutter. Don’t stumble. Don’t go on messy.

3 minutes?
God.

Hi, I’m… smile. Stay calm. Stay composed.

Hi, I’m… two minutes? Keep breathing.
Don’t mess up the teleprompting! Don’t forget how to read…

One minute?

Hi, I’m… Don’t panic. Don’t tremble. Don’t shake.

Ten seconds. Don’t fidget.

Keep that smile.

We’re on.

Hi, I’m Mary-Anne, and welcome to the weather report. The metropolitan, the suburban, the middle-class weather. It’s not looking good. As you can see, keep your eyes on my hands, as you can see a cold front developed, bluster and guster, wind and storm.
Mrs and Mr Right.
Clouds were bruised as dark as egos. Thank god, they said, for those clouds to – break up.

Mr and Mrs - prompt me that maiden name.

Pedestrians out walking on thin ice can easily see the effects of the storming. Let’s not call it a natural disaster. Venom tones and acid rain outside the doors of courtrooms aren’t conducive to healthy growth.
Put on a raincoat and you’re still in the rain.
Put kids out in the rain and don’t cry shock at pneumonia.
Children need fertile conditions to grow. And they don’t stop needing. Wanting. Food, games, school sleep, money, treats, dirty, filthy monsters as helpless as anything. They don’t stop; parents can’t stop. Unless you cut loose to an island while lawyers win your case – ditch the wife and kids to hit some sunny beach.
Don’t forget your sunscreen.
Don’t forget your wallet.
Don’t forget your secretary.
I hope you get cancer.

I’m reminded to be politically correct (PC is the new black). The station’s message is as real as my handbag. Stick together for the kids. Don’t stop for stormy weather. Don’t stop to smell the flowers. Don’t stop to… trample them. For all you gardeners spring is when the violets come out. Enjoy the sun but don’t forget they’ll be dead as your summer romance by the time autumn rolls around.

I’m Mary-Anne with the weather.

Life is falling apart.

Stay tuned through the break. Satellites confirm the trim and slim island is in fact a continent.
More breaking news.
Your friends don’t seem old and fat.
More breaking news.
Stay tuned while the break turns bitter.
See the cold move through the country?
Feel the cold move through the home?
More breaking hearts.
Stay tuned for the weather.

For anyone driving to work, watch out for that rain. It’ll start when you leave the house.
Your wipers won’t work.
You forgot the umbrella.
And it’ll be fine and clear the moment you collapse into your office chair in the room that’s been sucking the life out of you for ten years.

Not that I’d know.

Hope for otherwise? Well everybody knows the weatherman is always wrong.
Right? Or maybe it’s just that he has a better lawyer.

This isn’t a million dollar case.
I don’t have a million dollar smile.
But my satisfactory wage smile holds the job.
The worst? The worst is just that… that loss of stability in everything.

The Richter scale is shaking.

You think that storm was bad, but things can always get worse.
Bear in mind; the neighbours don’t seem to be doing much better.

I don’t know who I am. This was the weather. Kiss your partner on the cheek – tuck your children in to sleep – and have a good evening.

That’s it?
We’re done?

Oh, no; the smile is painted on.