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MIM’S NEW HOUSE - by Kara Jacob
Imago, Volume 13, No. 1, 2001.

If Mim had a house and the house had a man, would Mim be happier if the house had no man? That’s a question for you, a question for you and a dilemma for Mim. Here, listen why.

His hair matched the sofa - amber hair on an amber sofa. Ridiculous! Nobody has amber hair you might say. But then, nobody has hair the colour of vermouth and who gainsaid e.e.? And besides, like George Washington, Mim would not tell a lie. Forsooth, he had amber hair.

Mim should have been warned. But she wasn’t. Stupid Mim. Thinking with her eyes, not her head. Yum, she thought, amber hair. Yum yum. But she should have been warned. Amber means get ready to stop. It doesn’t mean full steam ahead. It means go is over, it is limbo, sensible people stop here, amber is not green.

Mim never stopped at amber traffic lights either. Had a million tickets to prove it too. Ah, hah.

So she bought the house, she bought the sofa, she bought the man. Mim was spreeing, eager to let the honey-money trickle away. And you know why, don’t you?

Mim had a vision, a white picket vision. And when she saw the house, she said to herself, Mim, old girl, Mim, this house is for you. And then she saw the amber sofa, with the man with the amber hair a-sprawl upon its chintzy sheen, and she said, a-joking, to the owner of her house, oh wow, if I let you keep your curtains, can he be part of the deal?

The owner squinted at Mim. She said, in a voice harsh, you don’t like my curtains? What’s wrong with my curtains?

Ah, nothing, sputtered Mim, but you know, he’s cute, that guy on your sofa, the guy with amber hair. And, well ...

Owner’s face shut down, flint-flecks in her eyes. She spoke quickly, loudly, on top of Mim’s (it was only a joke, ha ha) squeak - His name is Ned. You have to buy the sofa too, if you want him. They’re a pair. They can’t be separated. So, it’s a deal?

Mim looked at Ned. Ned looked at Mim. A frolic of amber hair swung across his face in a shy dip and a smile sneaked out from underneath. Mim gulped.

I’ll take them all, she said.

And that was that.

Ned turned out to be a lover like no other, and really, that’s a helluva thing to say about a guy.

Come, Mim says to Ned, get off your sofa and come to bed. Ned comes to bed. The bed is bare of amber, but still, he suits the bed, does Ned, quite well.

Mim says to Ned, kiss here, and so he does, and then she says, kiss there, and amiably, he does that too. Touch here, a sigh, and there. Oooh-la-la. And lie still so I can explore you. And then Mim explores Ned.

Later, Mim chews Ned’s amber hair, splayed across her face, while Ned lies, panting in Mim’s ear, Mim’s body full of sweet Ned. Oooh-la-la.

And then she whispers, Ned, you can go back to your sofa now. And Ned goes back to his sofa.

Mim had a house and the house had a man, and for a while, Mim was happy with her house and with her man.

Then her mother came to visit.

Mim, she said, your house is fine, your house is good. Your picket fence is white, your kitchen is large and modern, the bathroom needs no immediate renovations, and even your roses are blooming, but Mim, tell me, where did you get that awful yellow chintzy sofa, and who is that man with yellow hair upon your sofa?

Oh, that’s Ned and the sofa and his hair are amber, not yellow. Isn’t he adorable? Isn’t Ned’s amber hair adorable?

Mim’s mother looked hard at Mim, said, Mim, I know that you, like George Washington, will not tell a lie. So I can only think that you are either blind or that you must, with great haste, make an appointment with a psychiatrist.

Mim’s mother took off her glasses and shoved them at Mim. Here, she said, look!

Mim looked at Ned on his amber sofa through her mother’s eyes. She saw, oh God, she saw - a litter of beer cans, a deluge of cigarette stubs, a plethora of chocolate bar wrappers, a sea of pizza crusts, all surrounding a man with dim eyes, yellowish-amber hair dangling, daftly giggling, a man transfixed by ‘Wheel of Fortune’ on an everlasting TV screen.

That Ned is a slob, said Mim’s mother. I. Do. Not. Like. That. Ned.

Mim said to herself, as she pushed her mother down the front steps, she said, Mim, you can’t trust what you see with mother’s eyes. Mother’s eyes are old, they’re fuddy-duddy eyes. They don’t know the delicious gasp of Ned’s tongue when he leaves his sofa. Mothers, Mim says to Mim, know nothing.

It got worse.

Friends came too.

What’s that smell? asked one. What have you done with your lounge room? asked another. Who is that slob on the sofa in your lounge room? asked a third. And what’s with his weird orange hair? Is he in a cult or something?

And because Mim, like George Washington, would not tell a lie, she sighed instead.

When they left, Mim went to the sofa, cleared a path for her hips by sweeping KFC carcasses onto the floor, picked up the remote control, switched off ‘Wheel of Fortune’ and said, Ned, we’ve got a problem.

Ned blinked. He groaned, Hey babe, you’re right. The TV’s stuffed. Look, it’s all gone black. He turned to her, his crest fallen, a swag of jaffa-amber fronds fluttering across his face.

No Ned, said Mim, that’s not the problem. The problem is you. You’re a slob, Ned. And Ned, I don’t think your hair is amber after all.

Ned grinned at Mim, a Ned-like grin. Then he started to do clever things to Mim with his tongue, despite the fact they were nowhere near the bed and still on the slippery chintzy maybe-amber sofa.

You’ve got me, babe, whispered Ned. I come with the house. The sofa and me are a pair. I’m yours for life.

No Ned no, yelped Mim, pushing up, pushing out. No Ned, you must go, with or without the sofa. You must be gone.

But where will I go? cried Ned, woe and begone. I have nowhere to go with my sofa.

Mim looked at Ned and she could not see his gorgeousness, his adorable swinging amber hair. All she could see was a slob with a big bill attached, and the price was more than she wanted to pay.

Ned, said Mim, we have a problem.

Mim made a for sale sign and put it in the front lawn. She made a phone call, said Ma, and wailed, I have to sell my house. My white picket vision is over. Ned must go, and the sofa and the house with it.

So be it, said Mim’s mother.

And so it was.

Mim cleaned her house, put Ned’s beer cans away as quickly as he emptied them, shooed his cigarette ashes into sacks, picked up pizza crumbs every three minutes, bought a thousand cans of potpourri air freshener and sprayed Ned every ten minutes. She led thirty-six people through her house.

Ooooh, wow, squealed the thirty-seventh potential new owner, what a gorgeous guy! And what adorable amber hair he’s got!

Ned grinned up at number thirty-seven through a swank of amber fringe. If you let me keep the curtains, began Mim ...

If Mim didn’t have a house which didn’t have a man, would Mim be happier if she had a house which had a man? I think not.

Mim was happy in her rented flat. It was small, but it was clean. It had no chintzy amber sofa and it certainly had no slob with amber hair. Whew, thought Mim, that’s over. It’s a pity about my white picket vision but at least I have a new boyfriend. Mim’s new boyfriend had sensible brown hair that refused to swing. It stuck out in earthy spirals, but it did not swing.

Mim went to her new boyfriend’s house for dinner. It was the first time. She was happy, excited. She dressed carefully as girls do.

He greeted her at the door, he greeted her with a breathtaking kiss. He pulled Mim into his lounge room, eager and hot. She let him. He’s adorable, she thought, just adorable.

On the coffee table she spied a square flat white box with dots on it. Oh well, thought Mim, his hair, at least, is sensibly brown. She went back to kissing her boyfriend.

Sofa. That’s where they ended up. Sofa, real leather. A lovely rich sensible shade of brown too.

Mim sat on her new boyfriend’s lap. She kept kissing him until suddenly she stopped. She looked hard at him. She reached out and caught up a tendril of his sensible brown hair, spread it out, a springy coil, against the leather sofa. Mim gulped.

I, like George Washington, will not tell a lie, began Mim. And Ted, she continued, I think we have a problem.

Ted looked up at Mim, directly, his expression limpid. The light in the lamp beside the sofa caught the gleam of his pale brown eyes, lending them an amber tinge. He laughed.

Mim, he began, who’s George Washington? And why doesn’t he let you lie?

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