It’s my blog and I’ll cry if I want to…
I’ve got a bloody great griz on.
I don’t know why specifically. Maybe it’s because I’m hormonal. Maybe it’s because I’m overweight and none of my clothes fit. Maybe it’s because, of the clothes that do still fit, I don’t have a bra that fits to go under them. May be it’s because I know that despite the fact that I actually want vouchers for Christmas and have therefore asked for them, nobody will get me vouchers because they’ll want to get me a “proper” present. Which I will hate. Maybe it’s because I’m cold. Maybe it’s because I have to go Christmas shopping on a Saturday afternoon. Maybe it’s because I’m a Londoner. Maybe it’s because my right contact lens is irritating me. Maybe it’s because my boss spent the morning eating with her mouth open. Maybe it’s because bloody customers keep bloody phoning me and interrupting my slacking off. Maybe it’s because the box of tissues on my desk insists on dispensing two tissues at a time, even if I only want one. Maybe it’s because I’ve run out of food and I’m still hungry. Maybe it’s because I have to go to a “Christmas themed” hen night tomorrow night at a dodgy bar/restaurant where I will probably be forced to witness an ex-plumber called Wayne take his clothes off, cover himself in baby oil and unrhythmically gyrate to “I’m Too Sexy” in the deluded belief that he’s titillating us. Maybe it’s because I’m just a miserable bitch.
And I know that things could be worse, and other people have it worse than me, but frankly I don’t care. The point of having a blog was to be able to vent my spleen and stop me going postal, so if I want to have a self-centred woe-is-me rant I will do.
So there.
posted by Kellycat @ 3:10 pm
6 disapproving tuts
6 Comments:
Exactly.
Rant on kellycat.
Amen to all of that!
Your pain = my blog-reading pleasure. Sorry you're feeling down but I found this post oh so enjoyable.
what you said (without the tissue issue, though)
Look at the bright side, you don't live in Denmark ;)
My sister and I have started a voucher campaign against my mother's bad present-buying habits.
For example: My mother told my sister that for Christmas this year, she was going to buy me a log that grows mushrooms. Now, being my mother, one would think she might know that a) I detest mushrooms, and b) I do not care for fungus growing in my house. My sister had to create a story that I was complaining about my lack of work clothes and needed a gift certificate to Ann Taylor.
I similarly saved my sister from lawn "art" by creating a story that she had JUST told me she wanted a gift certificate to a gardening center as she didn't have enough plants.
Sure, it spoils the surprise with all the plotting, but I don't have a mushroom log.
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