God and Aftershave

I don't believe in God, I believe in tigers on tube station posters.

I finished work early and had a few hours to kill before Steve came home. I decided I ought to do some Christmas shopping. I'm not very good at shopping. I look at stuff and think 'almost', 'maybe', 'if only...' and walk away and look at something else that's 'almost', 'maybe,' but never quite right. I often think about the thing I looked at first, which by now has become 'just right' in my head. Only it's there, and I'm here. And I know if I go back to it I'll probably see the reason I dismissed it in the first place.

Steve asked me to choose some aftershave for him.

I like the way he smells. He doesn't smell of anything much. He doesn't usually wear aftershave. He must have decided he wants to.

I saw bottles of tacky shapes, with garish labels, and with overpowering names like 'Happy' or 'Unforgiveable.' I smelled a few but knew this was hopeless shopping. I could never find a bottle that smelled of nothing much. That smelled as special as he did.

I wasn't in the mood for Christmas shopping any more.

Christmas isn't always a happy time, is it?

It would be the first Christmas I'd spent without Amy's Dad. Christmas is supposed to be about children. For children Christmas is about toys. I knew Amy would be happy with plenty of those. I'd miss her Dad, she wouldn't. I'd miss that he wouldn't see her enjoying her Christmas presents.

I felt sad, and decided I'd save the shopping for another day. I shop better when I'm desperate, when I must buy, without any time for 'maybes' or 'not quite rights'.

I wondered what I'd do when I got home, while I waited for Steve? Would I have a drink or two, because I could? Because this was my 'me time,' my turn to be alone while Amy enjoyed her toys with another parent.

A song played on my iPod - and it was a good tune. It was positive. It was lively. I've a feeling it was about faith. It felt like the way I would be if I could write myself into a story. I looked at a tube poster and saw a tiger. That was the second tiger I'd seen on a tube poster ad just recently. I used to believe that tigers were magic. Because of the tiger man at Tooting Bec station.

And I wanted to write a story, as lively and positive as that song, as magical as the tigers on the tube posters... But I didn't. I scribbled this blog post in a notebook instead. And I couldn't get a seat on the train. So I couldn't write in my little laptop. It didn't really matter.

I saw magic, and it saved me, and maybe baby Jesus was born on a special day and everyone will have a happy Christmas?

Will you drink to that?