(no subject)
saturday, in the west, in the plaza of the town with the shittest people -walk through the city centre and you'll lose count of all the unhealthy trailor trash esque citizens in dirty unwashed tracksuit clothes and one dollar shoes: a fucking little bitch working in mirage should have died. my fifty six year old size twelve mum, who i love, pointed at a shirt, said it was pretty and flicked through the size eight and ten. then i said. scuse me, do you have any other sizes in this shirt? and the piece of shit girl said " oh we only carry up til size twelve, size fourteen in some styles" im like you fucking bitch. what if we were after a six for me? so im standing there in shock and she turns again and says "but some of them are a big make so like it miight fit" and continued organising hung shirts. is she dense, did she hear herself, does the think thats socially acceptable. oh that fucking c.... my mum and i slowly looked through the rest of the store then left. didnt say anything to my mum, didnt know if it mattered to her as much as it did to me. cos last night i couldnt sleep cos i was too distracted by all the things i should have said to her, and how i wanted nothing more than for her to accidentally wash her face with acid. dear lord, please give this bitch what she deserves. amen.