Courage and Heartless Frivolity
On the boy's, and my, part, respectively. Yesterday we went to IKEA to get the top of the desk I forgot to get last time I went to IKEA. On the tube on the way down an objectionable young man was harrassing another dude on the train: 'What's your name?' 'Where you from?' 'You're foreign.' 'You're poncing off this country.' 'I hate ponces like you.' 'Don't play dumb.' 'Don't come to this country and play dumb.' 'You speak english? huh? huh? que?' Other dude was responding with silence at all times, so this really was how it sounded, a continuous stream of insulting questions reverberating around the carriage. So we were all pretending it wasn;t happening and hoping that the dude would be struck by the vengeance of Martin Luther King or something, when the (vaguely mediterranean looking) dude moved to sit opposite us and Mr. Cunt followed. Whereupon Mr. Cunt tried to strike up a conversation with Canis, who told him calmly and clearly that he wasn't going to shake his hand, because Mr. Cunt was being racist. Mr. Cunt got rather sulky at this, and continued railing about ponces and Canis until we all got off.
I am proud of my boy for standing up for his (and my values). I was all busy being scared and shaking from adrenaline, but he maintained a non-aggressive, immovable egalitarian object.
I bought him lunch in appreciation.
My dress that I ordered to be custom made for my graduation has not turned up, and the graduation is on Thursday. I am concerned it is not going to be here in time, and angry because I specified I needed it by then. So today I wore my lovely lovely leopard print shoes and trotted into the savage lands of Oxford Street to look for a last minute alternative. I was even prepared to buy things from shops that use sweatshops (i know :( ) And there wasn't bloody anything. I can only conclude that every fashion designer currently working has been struck down with a horrible neurological disorder that affects their optic nerve, causing everything to be hideously distorted and colours to be hue-shifted. It's all horrible.
On the plus side when I wear my leopard-print shoes i feel like someone else. Someone precise and elegant and attractive.
It's nice to be someone else for a while, but after some time being her my feet hurt.
I am proud of my boy for standing up for his (and my values). I was all busy being scared and shaking from adrenaline, but he maintained a non-aggressive, immovable egalitarian object.
I bought him lunch in appreciation.
My dress that I ordered to be custom made for my graduation has not turned up, and the graduation is on Thursday. I am concerned it is not going to be here in time, and angry because I specified I needed it by then. So today I wore my lovely lovely leopard print shoes and trotted into the savage lands of Oxford Street to look for a last minute alternative. I was even prepared to buy things from shops that use sweatshops (i know :( ) And there wasn't bloody anything. I can only conclude that every fashion designer currently working has been struck down with a horrible neurological disorder that affects their optic nerve, causing everything to be hideously distorted and colours to be hue-shifted. It's all horrible.
On the plus side when I wear my leopard-print shoes i feel like someone else. Someone precise and elegant and attractive.
It's nice to be someone else for a while, but after some time being her my feet hurt.