A beautiful bunch of long-stemmed roses arrived at my work today, which were destined only (as per USUAL on every special occasion!) for the arms of my MALE workmate! As we, the large team of female workers, swooned over the sentimentality, I for one was also puking with jealousy (as you do. I also puke when I'm happy, sad, or a little bit excited. I'm going to carry on thinking that's perfectly regular); and it occured to me, isn't that the point? (The jealousy, not the puking.) It's interesting how even though we've all had a taste of loneliness and neglect, we still like to rub it in other people's faces when we've found true love (or some version thereof. Perhaps a circus strong man and a bearded lady who have acquired a liking for a little extra tent time together. It's all valid). Sure, you may try to write it off as wanting to share your happiness with the world, but WE ALL KNOW it's ROMANCE SHOWPONYINGGGG! Hell, I do it whenever I get the chance (or at least on the rare occasion when my black little heart feels the compulsion. By beating. Once. Ben's actually a very unlucky man who leads a sad little life, being married to me!).
I think it also stems from the belief that if you've done the hard yards to achieve something, then you've earned the right to flaunt it. Like, when you're stuck in a long queue and you watch all the bastards in front of you taking their sweet arsed time at the counter. Once it's your turn, however, you think, "I've done my time, maaaan. Now I can fuck around as much as I want, and you suckers can suffer as much as I did." (At least, that's what I think. I count out all my loose change, tell the store person [and anyone else who'll listen] stories about when I was in the war...)
Or, as another example, when you've waited for ages to use the toilet, so that when it's your turn, you leave the loo in an absolute MESS just to spite everyone who follows. NO, NO, NO! I'm only joking. (In fact, I'm kidding about most things, but I should probably make that one clear!)
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to enjoy an amazing pasta cooked by my amazing husband, as we share a bottle of wine and look over our wedding photos like adorable sweet hearts. Then, afterwards, maybe I can score a little massage action. (Funny how all I ever want on special occasions is a massage, and Ben just wants.. A nice hot meal.. [That's what she said. Speaking of whom, if you happen to be a lonely heart on this sickeningly soppy day, I bet She'd be up for a bit of action. She is such a whore bag).
I think it also stems from the belief that if you've done the hard yards to achieve something, then you've earned the right to flaunt it. Like, when you're stuck in a long queue and you watch all the bastards in front of you taking their sweet arsed time at the counter. Once it's your turn, however, you think, "I've done my time, maaaan. Now I can fuck around as much as I want, and you suckers can suffer as much as I did." (At least, that's what I think. I count out all my loose change, tell the store person [and anyone else who'll listen] stories about when I was in the war...)
Or, as another example, when you've waited for ages to use the toilet, so that when it's your turn, you leave the loo in an absolute MESS just to spite everyone who follows. NO, NO, NO! I'm only joking. (In fact, I'm kidding about most things, but I should probably make that one clear!)
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to enjoy an amazing pasta cooked by my amazing husband, as we share a bottle of wine and look over our wedding photos like adorable sweet hearts. Then, afterwards, maybe I can score a little massage action. (Funny how all I ever want on special occasions is a massage, and Ben just wants.. A nice hot meal.. [That's what she said. Speaking of whom, if you happen to be a lonely heart on this sickeningly soppy day, I bet She'd be up for a bit of action. She is such a whore bag).
No comments:
Post a Comment