Undercover Mission - Back Up Required

I want to be an International woman of Mystery. Partly because I have been secretly harboring Julie as a spy fantasies

(Before anyone gets on email, I know, I would be useless. Getting drunk and giving the game away, losing my special keyring cum poisoner. Having a crush on those I'm supposed to be spying on then forgetting to be covert as slightly unhinged I send morse code messages saying 'take me, or I'll text you constantly' . That's without popping out for a fag at the key 'suspect on the move' moments. Spy spy, not cop as implied with that suspect on the move bit, definitely not cop, that would be even worse. 'Well your honor I think that's the geezer I saw running down the back alley, but sadly my platform heels and inability to peg it meant I lost him, and I am a bit blind you see')

I digress
International Woman of Mystery. How did I get from the gypsy gets naked to a hankering to be shrouded I hear you wonder.

Partly because I think with whistling admiration of my mate who told me that her then boyfriend, now hubby had never heard her fart, never seen her on the loo and never heard her moaning about hating her boobs.

I think that's all good. I am currently aspiring to uber-glamour and those things fit whilst my inability to cultivate such behavior patently doesn't.

Mostly it's just that anyone who shows an interest in me seems to be scared off faster than you can say 'oh, that was a little inappropriate, did you have to give so much away'.

I've been thinking a lot about control, self control, how to cultivate it. I've been thinking a lot about how I define myself through my romantic relationships and want to stop that. I have been thinking a lot about chaos and how destructive it can be. I have been thinking carelessness is something I want to grow out of.

I am coming to believe impression management is where it's at. I tend to just roll along (in my personal though not professional life) shouting 'look at me, oops there goes my bloomers, a naked buffoon, with a giant cleavage, coming your way, sorry madam, let me extricate my skateboard from your hairdo'

Yet at work I manage the impression I create much more effectively. Ok so I don't do International Woman of Mystery but I do do slick and measured much more.

What brought all this on?
Naturally it's my love life. Deciding I don't want it to define me then writing about how it does are naturally not mutually exclusive.
There's the Balinese pedalo bobbing up and down just out of sight
There's the cyberspace warrioress who has I suspect, wisely decided I'm not worth the trouble
There's the famously funny man who can currently be seen running through the streets of East London shouting ' I should never have replied, she's nuts'.

Balinese boy sent an email, two lines, nothing meaningful, half in Indonesian. The brief flurry of activity / effort seems to have died following the phone conversation. I can't help thinking I should have tried to play games. Dumped 'look I'm here if you're quick'. Inserted ' Bit busy right now, must dash'.

I keep thinking I should have been less available, more enigmatic.

I keep thinking maybe inviting the comedian to a one woman show about an artists experience as nasa's artist in residence was little toff for this particular funny man. Maybe he couldn't see the comedy value I could see in the whole thing. Maybe it's just to scary to commit to a whole evening with a women who signs her text message aka the drunken cleavage.
He's not responded.

One of the best game players I know once told me 'everyone does it, you just have to do it best'. She's probably right and has it has to be noted managed to sail through life breaking hearts and avoiding being dumped.

My socialist / artist side objects to that though, says, ahh there's merit in being broken, and surely constantly being able to cast aside is at heart a tad Tory?

My take me as I am side, and she's a noisy bugger, goes, 'ahh shucks, if they can't take the whole thing, can't see the merit in not having to hunt for the flaws, then they're nowhere near your one'.

My new grown up side goes 'well, there's a lot to be said fo slow release, not flooding the market so to speak, take dancing dear Gypsy, there's naught sexier than someone who controls it, little less so than the let it all out whatever the rhymn approach'.

What finally nails it is the hat.
I know it's shallow but surely an International Woman of Mystery would get to wear one of those fabulous veiled numbers? the 1950's movie star meets Jackie O meets funeral ones. I love those hats. I have always wanted one.

So watch out folks, new 'what is her name, that women in the corner, with the cigarette holder and fabulous hat?' gypsy is coming. She'll say less, not be less that her previous incarnation. Only trouble is - having never done International Woman of Mystery I have no idea where to start (bar the not farting). So I'm relying on you lot for advice. Those that have watched from afar but so far avoided the signing up to comment stuff, you're desperately needed. Please don't leave the gypsy stranded naked in the UK's coldest Capital.