Is It Just Me?

Is It Just Me? by Miranda Hart Read Free Book Online

Book: Is It Just Me? by Miranda Hart Read Free Book Online
Authors: Miranda Hart
Tags: Humor, General, Azizex666
A little joke on Gino D’Acampo, the chef off
This Morning
. No?
    The THIRTYSOMETHING women all stare at her.
    THIRTYSOMETHING WOMAN:
    Shall we begin?
    No one really wants to begin. They all nod.
    THIRTYSOMETHING WOMAN:
    So
The Time Traveler’s Wife
. . . Well, what a book . . .
    General mumbles of approval.
    MIRANDA:
    Oh, what a book . . . what a book . . . well, what a book . . .
    THIRTYSOMETHING WOMAN:
    What would you say its main themes are then, Miranda?
    MIRANDA:
    Me? Well, I would say to you this.
The Time Traveler’s Wife
– its main theme, well . . . its main theme is that it was about a wife, whose husband time travelled . . . * downs some wine *
    THIRTYSOMETHING WOMAN:
    Well, yes, but what issues did it make you consider?
    MIRANDA:
    I put that to the floor.
    Nervous silence.
    THIRTYSOMETHING WOMAN:
    Well, the book really moved me to consider issues of love, loss and free will . . .
    MIRANDA downs some more wine and knows she has to get out of there. It is ghastly. The woman is scary. She has a sudden, potentially inspiring, thought. MIRANDA creeps to the kitchen, dials her mobile phone number from the THIRTYSOMETHING WOMAN’s landline. Her mobile rings, she rushes back.
    MIRANDA:
    Hello? What has happened? Say that again, please? Oh my goodness! Are you serious? That’s awful. I must come immediately. I am at a book group. I know, it will be a total shame to miss it, particularly as I was enjoying it so very very much – (MIRANDA starts to leave) –
The Time Traveler’s Wife
. I know, it’s an amazing book about love, loss and free will, but this is an emergency of the highest proportions, so I am coming now . . .
    THIRTYSOMETHING WOMAN:
    (From her landline) Goodbye then, lovely to meet you.
    MIRANDA:
    SCREAMS as she hears the voice on the end of the line. Exits tripping over and into the hummus dip as she leaves.
    Still, at least those quests for a hobby are motivated by something essentially noble, some sort of desire to expand one’s horizons and better oneself. But in one’s thirties another, slightly more sinister, gang of new-hobby-ists emerges:
the Man-Finders
. These are the women who take up traditionally masculine activities in order to find a mate. They will feign interest in Indoor Rock Climbing, Car Mechanics, Boxing. Or for the less out-and-out Man-Finder, they will attempt to meet their future Mr Right through the hallowed dancing classes of salsa. Actually, I highly recommend you attend one. Not because you’re likely to meet an available man, but because there’s nothing in the world funnier than twenty-five single women dancing in pairs with one another, each in the throes of a devastating existential crisis, while a perky instructor shouts out, ‘Hips, ladies, hips! Feel the rhythm!’ (Note to anyone considering joining a class: there is no need to turn up in full
Strictly Come Dancing
salsa outfit including fake tan. Everyone just wears jeans. Briefly awkward.)
    * Eighteen-year-old Miranda sulkily stomps in * We got WALTZING MAN IN BALLROOM SCENE.
    Talking of dancing in all-female pairs . . .
    Don’t laugh . . . I am in a total bate about this . . .
    I am not laughing: I still feel your pain, Little M . . .
    I don’t think I will ever get over this.
    Don’t worry, you don’t.
    It could at least have been Waltzing WOMAN.
    I know, I know.
    I hate being tall. Dire strait pants. And now – as if my life couldn’t get any more hideola – I’ve got to go and pretend to be interested in watching Bella try on her new pixie boots. She’s the first one in the school to have a pair – typical. Last term she laughed at my bat wing jumper because it was BHS.
    Could I please get back to my Mrs Chapter?
    Mrs Chapter? Weirdo.
    I’ll give you Mrs Chapter and raise you ‘Dire strait pants’ . . . Off you trot, Waltzing Man in Ballroom Scene.
    Meanie. At least I’ll be on stage . . . Bet you can’t say that about your old thirty-eight-year-old self. *

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