Ingratitude! thou marble-hearted fiend...

“Ingratitude is treason to mankind.” James Thomson

Thursday 10 June 2010

Some random and gratuitous hysteria, evening edition.

So I'm going to let you know what I've been up to and you can venture a guess as to whether or not I am having a good day.

I have already cleaned up two piles of shit, which is two too many for someone who has neither kids nor faecal incontinence. As the person with the keys and the opposable thumbs, I am responsible for letting the dogs out and I feel guilty. (But fucking hell, the boy dog had just come home from his eight hour session with the dog walker. I would not ordinarily expect him to require an immediate toilet break.)

I collected my expensive new glasses this afternoon and they were tight and uncomfortable. The little passive-aggressive bloke at the optician's who clearly wanted me to take them and go was instead forced to adjust them for me. Each adjustment gave me about .5mm less tightness. When I made my third request for them to please be slightly less vice-like, he took them away and did something to them such as you might do to a wire hanger if you were going to use it to break into your car. He called me "madam" throughout. About 34 times.

My new glasses are not as fabulous as I thought they were when I giddily ordered them. And now they're a little saggy.

In my efforts to extract something positive from the visit to the soulless shopping centre, I nipped into Marks and Spencer and became thoroughly depressed at the unspeakable foulness of every. single. thing. A little lingerie browse at Marks's once had the power to perk me up a little. That ship has sailed.

Trundled home and let the dogs out. As I was emptying the dishwasher, the dogs returned from the garden. I went to close the door and turned to find one of them licking the clean dishes. I burst into tears.

And btw, if I take another dirty item (something which has undergone the cleaning process and remains dirty) from a completed dishwasher cycle or clean load of laundry - or if I find such an item carelessly returned to the cupboards (you know who you are) - I cannot be responsible for my actions.

I washed my hands for the gazillionth time today in preparation to empty the dishwasher and was forced to do something (say, remove a dog from the dishwasher door) that necessitated an immediate second hand washing, which may have caused me to internally lose my shit. And burst into tears.

I think I may be at a low ebb.


  1. this is why i like both other people's children and other people's pets - all the joyful belly rubbing and ear stroking without any of the awful responsibility.

    also, i think you might need a drink.

  2. Your diagnosis was spot on. I augmented the prescribed drink with a late-night takeaway. What may have been sacrificed below the neck was offset by the benefit above.

  3. I am not all that sure that I like you using the phrase "tight & uncomfortable", young man.

    At our house, the terriers lick the dishes before they are washed, in what we refer to as "the pre-enzyme" wash.

    But, all & all, your bad day made me burst into tears. You simply must demand satisfaction with the new glasses. Try being a real bitch... that opens doors for me.

  4. All sympathy gratefully accepted of course. I'll just be over here on the fainting couch, fanning myself and keeping the smelling salts at the ready. And when I've recovered sufficiently I'll give the glasses fuckers a run for their money.