Sex-signal faux pas makes poor Mariella a grass
Non-swinger journalist can only laugh, writes Sarah Caden
SHOULD she choose to, Mariella Frostrup could feel flattered by the response she got to the two pampas-grass plants she put out in front of her London home. Because the locals, it seems, had quite the response to them, if not that which the Norwegian-born, Dublin-raised journalist might have expected. For, unknown to Mariella until she set the pots out front, pampas grass is a signal to swingers. And around Mariella's way, also previously unknown to her, there seems to be a bit of a scene. Strangers began calling, and not just for sugar, she joked on Twitter, but for a bit of her husband to boot.
There are many levels upon which Mariella could choose to be flattered. Flattered that callers didn't spot the plants, think: "Nah, not that one; she's clearly made a mistake." Flattered that they think that she and her husband are worth calling on -- according to her tweets, the locals "have been swarming" -- and flattered that, at 49, she's clearly still a catch. That's if she chooses to see the good side of it all, which, it seems she has.
And dwelling on the fun and the flattery of the confusion is probably the best option, unless she plans to move house. Because while it's all very well for Mariella to advertise online that she made an honest mistake and is no swinger, she has also advertised exactly what her neighbourhood is up to. And while they might not thank her, Mariella might well not thank them for making her imagine what goes on when they all get together for what she once thought were simple evenings of a glass of wine and nibbles. So to speak. Mariella can get rid of the pampas grass -- and she is, apparently -- but can she get rid of the images now running riot in her head?
Best to keep laughing it off, one imagines, and focusing on how nice it is to still be wanted by complete strangers.
Sunday Indo Living