Crying/crawling/biting
Most of the time, I enjoy being a member of the female species. I say species because we really are a creature unto ourselves. For example, you can cry in an attempt to get out of sticky situations (that is, if you choose to lower yourself to such childish and immature means of obtaining things you want which of course, I do). You can also crawl around the house for a week in your pyjamas whilst wailing and moaning and yelling at people to bring you chocolate which they do in fear you will bite them and pass on this once-a-month womanly issue.
I recently experienced such a crying/crawling/biting week which had me sobbing over televisions commercials about children’s cereal and life insurance, but also had me delving into forgotten internet websites that were there to be well, forgotten.
The site in question is one of those “create-an-account-a-post-every-photo-of-you-ever-for-the-world-to-see-and-judge” ones from a few years back, before MySpace and Facebook. This meant it was very likely to come across a photo of yourself from one party or another that you attended in your final drunken years of school. It also meant that current boyfriends had photos of themselves with ex-girlfriends and this did not make for efficient internet surfing at the peak of my crying/crawling/biting week.
There he was. Smiling and kissing the cheek of some awful girl that looked like a shoe. I noticed, after looking for several minutes in stunned silence, then that there was an entire photo album dedicated to this shoe woman. I then proceeded to do what any self respecting mature modern day woman would do - I clicked on the album and examined each photo with the intensity of one straining to see the pirate ship in one of those 3-dimensional pictures. Instead of seeing the situation for what it was - photos taken and uploaded in the heat of an old flame and exiting the browser, I opened each photo into a new window and carefully planned vengeful attacks on Shoe Woman.
My mind had started to wander about what it was like actually kissing a shoe when current boyfriend came home.
I again acted in a most reasonable and rational fashion and confronted him by screaming and biting and asking why the photos had not been printed out then burnt separately in some sort of cleansing ritual that involved the sacrifice of a shoe and lavender incense. God knows, I’d want to get the taste of shoe out of my mouth if it was me.
After dedicating an entire day to this website and using all of our broadband allowance by downloading the photos onto the computer, I expected current boyfriend to smother me with love and attention and claim that I didn’t resemble so much as a stiletto, let alone the horrible used Ugg-boot thing he used to date (actually I don’t know if that’s a compliment or not but attention is attention in crying/crawling/biting week).
Instead he gave a quiet chuckle, told me he forgot the site even existed and that I needed to get out more. He even had the nerve to offer to take the photos off the site and delete them (though by moving them to the recycling bin, not in the cleansing ritual way much to my displeasure).
With that, I crawled back into bed, cried a bit more about The Shoe, then bit heartily into my chocolate that current boyfriend had brought me.
It was great being a female sometimes.
I recently experienced such a crying/crawling/biting week which had me sobbing over televisions commercials about children’s cereal and life insurance, but also had me delving into forgotten internet websites that were there to be well, forgotten.
The site in question is one of those “create-an-account-a-post-every-photo-of-you-ever-for-the-world-to-see-and-judge” ones from a few years back, before MySpace and Facebook. This meant it was very likely to come across a photo of yourself from one party or another that you attended in your final drunken years of school. It also meant that current boyfriends had photos of themselves with ex-girlfriends and this did not make for efficient internet surfing at the peak of my crying/crawling/biting week.
There he was. Smiling and kissing the cheek of some awful girl that looked like a shoe. I noticed, after looking for several minutes in stunned silence, then that there was an entire photo album dedicated to this shoe woman. I then proceeded to do what any self respecting mature modern day woman would do - I clicked on the album and examined each photo with the intensity of one straining to see the pirate ship in one of those 3-dimensional pictures. Instead of seeing the situation for what it was - photos taken and uploaded in the heat of an old flame and exiting the browser, I opened each photo into a new window and carefully planned vengeful attacks on Shoe Woman.
My mind had started to wander about what it was like actually kissing a shoe when current boyfriend came home.
I again acted in a most reasonable and rational fashion and confronted him by screaming and biting and asking why the photos had not been printed out then burnt separately in some sort of cleansing ritual that involved the sacrifice of a shoe and lavender incense. God knows, I’d want to get the taste of shoe out of my mouth if it was me.
After dedicating an entire day to this website and using all of our broadband allowance by downloading the photos onto the computer, I expected current boyfriend to smother me with love and attention and claim that I didn’t resemble so much as a stiletto, let alone the horrible used Ugg-boot thing he used to date (actually I don’t know if that’s a compliment or not but attention is attention in crying/crawling/biting week).
Instead he gave a quiet chuckle, told me he forgot the site even existed and that I needed to get out more. He even had the nerve to offer to take the photos off the site and delete them (though by moving them to the recycling bin, not in the cleansing ritual way much to my displeasure).
With that, I crawled back into bed, cried a bit more about The Shoe, then bit heartily into my chocolate that current boyfriend had brought me.
It was great being a female sometimes.