Mitchell's Mustard Blog

June 13, 2015

I can’t promise you tomorrow

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 9:28 pm

The surrounding earth meant nothing, not right now. He could hold the dirt in his hand and watch the grains slip away with the wind, it still meant nothing to him. In this moment it wasn’t real, the ground he sat on that worked it’s way into the fabric of his trousers, the tree he leant against that gently swayed in the wind, the forest that cocooned him with danger and protection, none of it was real. He refused to believe that he was awake, he didn’t want to be awake. Not any more. The colours that danced around him played tricks on his eyes, submerging only to rise again, like a playful game of peekaboo that he never enjoyed. The side wind pushed at his tears to confuse their direction, his cheeks felt sore, his eyes tired, his body weary. Knowing that he would have to start getting used to this feeling. It was cruel. Once he gets to the stage of looking for a silver lining in his story he’ll think there was a sense of relief getting his results, the weeks of not knowing had caused him nothing but worry, now there was no need to worry about himself, he needed to worry about all those that surrounded him, depended on him.
The words came as a shock, even though he had prepared himself for the worst, there was still that little bit of hope that clung on like a leaf in autumn. Like a hammer to the heart, he still held self preservation until he reached his car, until he had made it to his current spot, it was their spot. Today it was lonely.
He wasn’t scared of dying, he was scared of telling her that he was dying. Knowing that she’ll be strong until the very end, he’d leave her knowing that he had let her down. He feared watching her face crumple, mirroring her heart. The thought that he would hurt her like this and have no way of fixing it. The old wise words ‘time is a healer’ had no room in his existence, not any more. He loved her, funny thing is he loved her more now than he ever had done, he didn’t think that was possible. All the little things she did that frustrated him now meant nothing, all the petty arguments that they passed to and fro meant nothing. He loved her with everything, more than any man had tried, or ever could.
Wiping the tears from his cheeks, pulling his achy body from the floor, he needed to face his fear, he knew that they’ll have so much to do but with such little time, a true understanding that forever is just a word, a myth, a lie. But love, love is the glue for this broken story, and love will keep them marching on until the end.

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May 5, 2015

On the pull like a plastic gangster

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Picture this – My partner and myself are just stepping out of our local supermarket with the evenings to-and-fro ideal dinner ingredients, bags in the basket of the city bikes, just about to peddle off home when a couple of plastic gangsters walk past. One of them spots my partner as she’s positioning her sunglasses, ready to peddle. Suddenly, his slumped hooded head, foot dragging, intimidating stare characteristics all changed. The transformation happened in a blink of an eye. He stopped in his tracks, and everyone else’s tracks I might add, his pigeon chest was puffed out and became more apparent through (what could have been) his Kappa plastic coated jacket. His facial expression went from one of intimidation to what could have been uncomfort? His chin held high, sucking the inside of his cheek like he was practising his finale at a local parks gurning competition. There could have even been a grunt thrown in there as well, but I couldn’t hear it over my chuckling. First thing to remember from this situation, people. don’t laugh at plastic gangsters, they don’t like it. Anyway, within a split second, he had become what I can only describe as a infantile testosterone filled chimp with his hands in his pockets and his eyes on my partner. As he stood there, working on his best ‘come to bed/I’m not sure if I’ve shit myself’ eyes, a kind of pouty-gurn-like facial expression, an arched back so that his groin was at the forefront of his existence. To him, he looked like he had game. To all the passers by, he looked like he was having a stroke, but no one wanted to ask if he was okay just in case it was a scam and would end up with their wallet suddenly missing. After all the effort he had made for her, to look like someone had placed a cattle prod up his sheriffs badge, after all that . . She hadn’t even noticed this whole transformation happening in front of our eyes. Whilst cycling, she was intrigued as to why I was giggling to myself, so I explained all on our peddle home.
Lesson to be learnt by this, if you think you have game, that probably means you haven’t!! It’s been a few years since the caveman pulling technique worked, I’m not sure the opposite sex are keen on being dragged anywhere by their hair anymore. If you want to catch someone’s attention, talk to them. Don’t stand there trying your best rejected boy band pose, it doesn’t work, you must have seen Zoolander, right?

March 27, 2015

Her little love notes

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 9:35 pm

‘I adore you x’. This was written on the post it note that he found in his suit jacket pocket, he hadn’t worn the black suit for years and was surprised it still fit him, probably due to the weight he had lost recently. He stopped and stared at the loving note, spellbound, lost, loved. She had beautiful handwriting, he knew he was biased, but he loved the way she curled her letters, delicate, passionate, and all without a concentrated effort, it just flowed. He pictured her giggling, running around the house with the post it note pad, quickly leaving love notes for him to find when he returned home from work. And when he found them, she would act blasé, nonchalant, but he could always see the excitement in her eyes as she followed him around the house asking questions about his day, she wasn’t worried about the answers, she just wanted to see his face while reading the notes she had strategically placed. She didn’t always hide them, he would find ‘morning sunshine’ stuck to the bathroom mirror, ‘I’m proud of you’ on the front door, or one of his favourites that he had kept in his wallet, ‘you make me tick’. He had found that note on her pillow a week ago, the morning she had left for work early, on the day she didn’t return.
She would sometimes buy him little presents, something she might stumble across, a little something that she knew he would appreciate. Leaving little post it note clues around the house for him to follow and find her gift. Her infectious giggle would echo round the house while he was hunting, following the trail. He missed that giggle.
He was perched on the edge of their bed in his underwear, he stared at the note. He knew this was going to be the last note he would find in her handwriting, because today, she was the reason he had to wear the black suit, the day he had to say goodbye for the last time. He kissed the note and placed it on her pillow. He knew he needed to get dressed, he didn’t want to, but knew the cars would be here soon.

March 7, 2015

A Smudge of the Retina.

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 1:20 pm

A refreshing beauty, standing alone in a crowd, for all that surrounds is just a smudge of the retina. All just blending into nothingness, the air around, beaming ripples like a pebble in water. An oxygen pulse that pushes it’s own boundaries, to leave a state of breathlessness like a heavy side wind. A smile that cures any moment of insecurity, whipping that moment of existence into the mother of all storms, a storm that won’t settle until you part ways once again, and you’re left with the craving of destruction. Eyes that hold the appeal of a sunset over this city, will always stop you in your tracks to admire. A beauty that takes you away from a feeling of worry, to think, to see, to realise that you have a moment, a moment to exhale and believe, a figure that can mesmerise and hold your attention, to cause all that you shade your eyes from, it all just slowly becomes a smudge of the retina. And in the blink of an eye, this moment passes, just like this encounter. No recollection of time, it’s not needed, time will only ever be a hindrance, until you’re counting down the hours again.

February 4, 2015

The Grand Misconception.

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 5:49 pm

Ladies, there is, and probably always will be an unwritten rule – a man never chooses a woman, he can only show you that his interest and availability is there, and as much as most of us men would hate to admit it, the decision generally falls onto your lap. But with that, that doesn’t mean that the effort should only lay claim to the male. We all know that the instruction manual for the opposite sex will never be published in our lifetime, if I took a guess, the author is probably battling their sixth divorce and feeling quite like a fraud.
There is a grand misconception that us men do not discuss our likes, wants, and dislikes between each other, well, we do. Whether it’s in the gym changing room, the pub, or even a chance meeting in the magazine aisle in Tesco. We talk about you. From the women that have crossed our path, or the ones that are yet to do so. I’m not talking about the childlike ‘I’d do her!’ comment from the prepubescent jock, I mean the conversations that happen between like minded, early thirty somethings that have slayed their man mountain ego through their twenties and have come out the other side as a gent.
I thought I’d take this opportunity to give you a heads up, I’m not taking sides, I’m not selling out, just giving you something to think about.

We’re not as shallow as you think we are. Bold statement, I know. Nothing ever just comes down to looks. Yes, the way you look will always be our first impression, but if we’ve made that effort to open a conversation with you, that means we want to know who you are. Please don’t ever think that the way you look on that particular evening holds precedence over confidence and the ability to hold a good conversation. It’s always nice to have someone attractive on your arm but if your social skills are as strong as a chocolate teapot . . you’ll only ever be an attractive someone on the arm, nothing more. We want to be able to take you to a friend’s wedding and be in sound mind that if we nip to the mens room, or the bar, we don’t have to rush back to our ‘rabbit in headlights’ plus one.
If we’re dating you, amongst other things, we’re attracted to the way you look, so easy on the make up please, love. We all love a woman who takes care of her appearance, but there is a thick line between looking good, and looking like Boy George, yet you sometimes still try to cross it. Waking up next to your natural self, shows that you are confident around us, your confidence gives us confidence. . . . We want to get to know all of you, and we won’t judge. Please don’t misconstrue the point I’m trying to make, I’m not saying don’t wear any make up, as I said before, we all love a woman who takes care of her appearance. I’m saying, the less make up, the better. And don’t be coy about us seeing you without.
A high majority of us men find women that train attractive, whether you’re the woman in the gym on the cross trainer in the morning, or out pounding the pavement at night. Yes, you might be all red faced and sweaty, to us, we see the confidence, the discipline, the motivation to get up and make that personal effort to better yourself, or to keep in shape. This shows us that you are willing to go out and put effort behind making a difference, and while having that attitude with training, in most cases means that you also have that attitude with all aspects of your life. Next time he asks you to train together, run together, go to a class together, don’t over think it. Just do it. He’s not going to think about your level of fitness, whether you look red and out of breath. He just wants to share that motivation with you.
If you’re on a night out with the girls, on a work lunch, or just popping to the shops, and you see someone who interests you, don’t wait for them to come and chat you up, act on it. There’s a chance they haven’t spotted you so don’t automatically think they’re not interested. That confidence will speak volumes. We are the same as you, we all fear rejection, we all have our own insecurities, and because of this we all have missed opportunities. The fact that you have approached us is attractive in itself. The idea that a woman should never approach a man is outdated. Also, if you are approached by someone and you’re not interested, don’t be a dick about it. Just think of the courage that person has had to build just to come over and talk. Put yourself in their shoes. Being polite costs you nothing.

Above all, just be yourself. You don’t want someone to fall for the person you’re trying to be. We’re pretty simple beings, be honest, be open, and if you have any sense . . never sleep on an argument, a man full of doubts is a dangerous man.

January 30, 2015

Strokes of a Paintbrush. .

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 2:30 pm

Her hand gently traced the muscles of his back as they lay there entwined, her face buried into his shoulder, she gently laced his neck with her lips, working her way around the lower line of his beard, she had grown quite fond of the feeling of his beard on her skin, like strokes of a paintbrush. They both lay silently, knowing that any one word could end this embrace, clouded by the thought that they both shouldn’t be where they are, but that made it more appealing, they had started something they couldn’t end. The attraction bore deep in them both.
His eyes outlining the intricate details of the tattoos that coloured her skin, stroking the line work on her arm, making sure he didn’t colour outside the lines. Her naked torso pulled him in closer, nuzzling in for warmth and attention, she started to work her fingers through the hair on the back of his head, gently tugging, the one thing she knew would get her the attention she craved. Her nails slowly leaving lines on the skin of his side, a remnant of where she had been, and where she would return. Pulling her foot up against the bottom of his, a way of pulling him in closer, close enough to compliment the way she felt. Craning her neck, she reached up and gently nibbled his lower lip. He pulled her small frame onto his. As she perched on top of him, he lined her spine with his fingers to make her back arch and her skin prickle. Reaching up and tugged on the back of her hair, pulling her back down to his level, she dug her nails into his tattooed chest, pushing back to feel engrossed in that moment of pain as she let out a little moan. . . .

. . . . The alarm broke the silence in the room, the moment was extinguished as he opened his eyes, only to once again stare at the emptiness of the pillow beside him, a reminder that he was still alone.

January 28, 2015

Am I Manly Enough?

Filed under: Just a Thought — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 6:16 pm

Am I manly enough? This question has been on my mind in recent months, in this modern day, what falls under the category of a manly man? And does it really matter?

I was born in the early 80’s, experienced many things I shouldn’t have in the 90’s, when television, rock music, and drugs were better, not forgetting, back then, a man was manly.
From an early age, I had never been interested in tinkering around with an engine, building things just to destroy them once finished. I never had the aggressive devil may care attitude. I was always more worried about the people around me, kept myself to myself, I had no intention of being the toughest person in the room, I still don’t. I like to think of myself as a modern gentleman, which I’m quite happy with, but does this cause me to be less manly? Is the definition of a manly man becoming extinct?

Growing up side by side with my brother, who in my eyes is a manly man, a mechanic by trade, married with four beautiful children. Nothing seems to phase him, from one issue to another, I’ve only ever seen anger, I can’t actually think of a time I’ve seen him worried or scared, in the 32 years I’ve been blessed to know him, I’ve only seen him cry once. Everything about him is manly, his posture, the way he communicates, his appearance.
Where as I’m on the other end of the scale, I’m the creative type, the thinker. I’m in touch with my emotions, but don’t let this deceive you into thinking that I’m the kind of person who will cry at the end of an Eastenders Christmas special. When I say I’m in touch with my emotions, I mean that I have no problem feeling worried, loved, fear, or sadness. I don’t always express it well, but I will sometimes let that emotion engulf my existence for a while rather than sweep it under the carpet for a rainy day.
I take care in my appearance, I would rather think about what I’m going to wear before I get dressed, rather than just throw on the nearest t-shirt after sniffing the armpits. I use skin products, I moisturise, exfoliate, because I believe the older I get, I should look after my skin. I have no issue with going clothes shopping, whether for myself or with a girlfriend, I’m completely comfortable in that environment due to it being part of my profession. Having quite a few female friends means that I find myself in a lot of female company, which in turn gives me confidence around women. I don’t have aggressive mannerisms, and I’m comfortable with that, but I’m not in fear of being aggressive if I need to. I find beauty in the simple things around me rather than be oblivious to them but that comes with having a creative mind.

Does a woman prefer a manly man, or a modern gentleman? Do women occasionally want to see the emotional side to their partner? And does it lead to more trust or less attraction?

I’m not your average manly man, but does this make me any less of a man, or does it just mean I’m a modern gentleman?

January 15, 2015

That’s You . .

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 5:15 pm

Pinch me because you must be my day dream, a glint in my eye, a reason to bring my dimples to the surface, that’s just you.
A completely refreshing change, wind through my hair, a hot water bottle on a winters morning, that’s all you.
A good surprise, a reason for goosebumps, a breeze on a summers day. You’re a knot in my stomach, that’s you.
The first warmth of a sunrise, an uncomfortable blush, my umbrella on a wet winters day, a good nights sleep, It must be you.
The first cup of tea in the morning, a cloudless starry night, a long warm shower, a compliment, that’s you.
A heartbeat in my throat, a prickling under my skin, one of those good thoughts to get you through the day, all you.
A gentle fear, a blooming confidence, the cause of my hair to stand on end, a reason to get carried away, to say yes, always has something to do with you.
A flirtatious smile from across the room, that moment of uncontrollable passion, the scratches across my back, that’s all you.
A moment to repair, a reason to sometimes hold my tongue with others, the occasional anger and suspense, that quiet moment, that can be you.
The unbearable frustration, the abrupt shouting followed by tearful apologies, the waltzing in, and the storming out, that could be you.
The cold feet on my legs, the contagious smile, my motivation to do things right, a reason to forget the bad things. You hold my positivity in your palms, be careful with it, because that’s you.

November 7, 2014

Home

Filed under: Just a Thought — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 9:46 pm

Her hair cascaded across the pillow, claiming its place. He tucked her hair behind her ear, like that of a curtain in a theatre, giving full visibility of the beauty behind. She held such strength, even as she slept, it was moments like this that he wanted to wake her up and tell her, tell her that he was happy, content, in love. He knew too well that by the time she was awake, the life they shared would cause him to forget. He knew that wasn’t an excuse, he knew that he should try harder to remember, but he also knew that this wasn’t the first time he had wanted to wake her before he forgot. As she lay naked, he admired her, she had the perfect balance of beauty and sexy, she often misplaced this fact, he never did. She would become coy if she woke and saw he was watching her, curling up under the duvet like a young, shy version of herself, but he could always see the smile in her eyes. As she stirred, she moved, place her head on his chest, entwined their legs, kissed the tattoos that coloured his torso. It didn’t matter where they woke up, where they had been, or where they were meant to be, that moment always felt like home. She is his wife, the mother of his children, his best friend, and forever his confidant. He would walk the earth, burn the sky, just to be home.

June 1, 2014

In Bloom

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 4:16 pm

As his heart started to bloom, he was always fond of her company. she sat opposite him, across the pub garden table. Her smile paving his next thought, enticing him down the old dusty road of love. Her sunglasses hindering his ability to view her true intentions. he couldn’t read her, but he could feel her, under his skin, gnawing at his bones. She will probably chew him up and spit him out, he was sure of this. But this didn’t change the rhythm in his chest, the bloom of his heart.
The day was warming up, the rays of sunshine curved around her form, as if they were in fear of disturbing such beauty. Like the sun, she became an eyesore if you were to stare for long. Her imperfections complimented her radiance. She started to laugh, a laugh that held his attention yet also caused him to want to drift off, grab the sound by the tail and let it drag him into the future, a sound he wanted in his life.
She is everything that he had never looked for before, an unlikely surprise, a pleasant outcome to being proved wrong, wrong for all these years while looking in the other direction.
He wasn’t looking forward to her departure, the goodbyes. He was comfortable where he sat, he had all he needed, but the goodbyes were inevitable. whether it was for a day, a week, or even months. He embraced these moments with her, he longed for them. He felt encased in the now, the moments where she sat opposite him, smiled, laughed, and whipped his life out from under his feet. He was punch drunk, his heart in full bloom. He didn’t need to say goodbye just yet.

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