For Want of a Quick Wit...

I must admit, I'm still rather shocked. What is it about random strangers and their need to pass comment? Why do they feel the need to share their views not only with me but with a whole tube carriage? (I must admit, I was rather comforted to see Mature Besuited Man rolling his eyes in sympathy). But I'm getting ahead of myself - let me give you the whole sad tale from the beginning.

Fabulous Best Friend and I had organised to go and see the Mara Watch at the Royal Geographical Society this evening, hosted by the brilliant Paul Goldstein, photographer extraordinaire.

My warm glow of anticipation was gently simmering as the tube trundled northwards, until the lady sitting next to me (frizzy hair, thousands of rings and Comfortable Shoes) turned to me and said, 'Do you have to do that in public? It's absolutely disgusting.'

And what was I doing that had so revolted her? Picking my nose maybe? Cutting my toenails? Flossing my teeth? Slaughtering a goat? No, dear reader, nothing of the sort. I was putting on my make up. To be precise, I was applying Plum Seduction eyeshadow with my little eyeshadow brush.

I was so surprised by Frizzy Hair's outburst that I simply stared at her, eyeshadow brush poised, and found myself incapable of speech. In the end I stammered something along the lines of, 'well, everyone's entitled to their own opinion', and defiantly kept on applying. I must confess that at this stage I was tempted to bring out my brightest red lipstick and apply it, hooker-style, all over my lips, while steadily eyeballing her. But my gumption deserted me and I cowered in the corner, furtively dabbing and brushing while Frizzy Hair huffed and puffed like an asthmatic marathon runner, occasionally interspersing her huffs and puffs with a loud tut.

But isn't it always the case that you think of some brilliant riposte AFTER the event? I would never have thought to say 'well clearly sweetie, make-up is a mystery to you', or 'Are you always this rude, or are you making a special effort today?' at the time, but twenty minutes afterwards, while relating the story to a shocked and giggling Fabulous Best Friend, ideas came swarming into my brain.

Oh, to have a quick wit. Rather like Churchill. My Grandfather is a great one for relating stories of Churchill's brilliant ripostes. Such as the time he was approached by Bessie Braddock at a party, who told him, 'Sir, you are drunk.' To which he bowed and replied, 'Madam, you are ugly. But in the morning I shall be sober.'