The Haw-Haw House
Matcha lattes, kindle romances and cafe conversations
The smell of roasted coffee beans wafts through the air. I’m in my happy place: parked up in the corner of my local café, in prime position to watch the bustle of people coming in and out. I’ve got a copy of Off Campus freshly downloaded on my Kindle, after watching the series on Amazon Prime I am utterly seduced by fictional hockey jock Garret Graham, like everyone else seems to be, and I want more. Hence the reading material. It gives me a little longer to stay in the fantasy of the sexy hockey player with a cracking body and emotional intelligence. Goals. Literally and figuratively. Do they call it a goal when you score in hockey? I’ll have to research that one.
I’m not going to pretend my matcha latte is healthy. It’s far too delicious for it to be. I’m sure there is a whole host of calorific things added to it to make it so palatable; matcha in its unaltered form tastes like grass.
Today I’m at the cafe earlier than usual, it’s mid-morning and the clientele is mostly females in groups, nattering away to each other over coffee and cake. Normally, I wouldn’t be up this early. The life of a stripper means I’m rarely seen in public before noon. But I’ve had a few days off the roster, and I like to get into the ‘real world’ when I have the chance to do so. Sometimes it gets a bit depressing spending so much of your time under neon lights or the night sky. Daylight starts to feel like a luxury.
I’m a few pages into my book but the ladies at the table next door keep distracting me with their conversation. They appear to be part of a walking group and have stopped here afterwards for a drink and a debrief.
“You know, it’s been studied that the happiest people are married men and single women,” says the chipper brunette who seems to be leading most of the conversation.
“Why’s that?”
“Well, because men are happy when they have someone running around after them like their mothers used to. And single women are happy because they don’t have to run around after these useless men anymore.”
I smile to myself. She’s not wrong.
One of my regulars, Blair, has been coming to see me for a while now. We’ve reached the stage where we can be quite open with each other. He has a wife and a family. He knows I have a boyfriend. Sometimes our conversations are less seductive fantasy and more accidental couples therapy with a healthy dose of ribbing.
The other night, Blair was complaining that his wife was “hounding him” — his words — about picking up their son from sports practice the following day.
“I wonder why she feels like she has to remind you constantly, though?” I asked him. “Are you one of those men who leaves his dirty dishes in the sink and forgets to pick up his own children?”
“You are, aren’t you!” (I wonder why he spends so much money on me sometimes).
Anyway. Back to my book.
I’m doing things the wrong way around, reading the book after watching the show, but I quite like noticing the differences between the two. The screen version gives you the fantasy. The book gives you the additional details that the adaptation missed. And lets you create your own fantasy in some ways. I love getting invested in a cliche romance novel.
“She tugs on the zipper and a second later my dick springs into her waiting hand. I haven’t done laundry in weeks so I’ve been going commando until I get my shit together …”
Damn. Even Garrett Graham needs help in the domestic-skills department. My fantasy has fizzled a little.
The ladies next door are cackling away. The loud brunette is now discussing her friend’s ‘haw-haw’ house.
I’m not entirely sure what a haw-haw house is (although the mind is wandering), and judging by the confused faces around the table, neither are some of the other women.
“You know,” she explains, adopting a comically posh voice. “A haw-haw house.”
Apparently, it means a fancy house.
“It’s beautiful,” she sighs. “You should see the tiling in the bathrooms, it’s just stunning.”
“I wouldn’t want to live with Martin, though. That would be diabolical.”
And off they go again, with Martin’s failings as a husband the next hot topic of conversation.
Martin, it appears, is the provider of the haw-haw house.
I guess that’s the trade-off.
You get the beautiful bathrooms, the fancy tiling and the haw-haw house.
But you also have to live with Martin.
I take one last sip of my matcha and start packing away my things. I need to pick up some airbrush legs to cover the fresh bruises I’ve acquired while trying to master a new trick on the pole. That stuff is fantastic. Does not budge and makes your legs look like new.
The women next door are still discussing Martin and debating whether or not to try the slice of pistachio cheesecake in the cabinet. It looks divine - I hope they indulge.
Outside, the midday sun hits my face. I’ve got a few more hours in the real world before the neon lights come back on.
Thanks for reading, I look forward to continuing the conversation with you below.
I just hit 20 coffees — I can feel the caffeine rushing through my veins! Thank you — your support is genuinely what keeps this diary coming — https://ko-fi.com/alinarae
