My washing machine broke down. Just thought I'd share that. Let's face it, people are in the habit of sharing the most pointless and facile facts of their lives online these days. Today I read about some mum copping online abuse because she mentioned she dismantled the Christmas tree yesterday, being Boxing Day. People thought her a Grinch, or a flouter of the noble of tradition whereby one must wait until the twelfth day of Christmas, or 6 January, when one must take down one's Christmas decorations. I'm eye-rolling so much my face looks like the front of a poker machine. First of all, why do strangers lose their shit over someone's decision to pack away tinsel and baubles? Also, why would you put such a banal and mundane fact online? Here's a basic guide to whether or not to share some dull minutiae on social media. Ask yourself these questions:
1. Is it likely to be interesting to others (hint: would I find it riveting if I read it myself?)?
2. Does the integrity of the time/space continuum pivot on my sharing this snippet?
3. Does it really matter?
4. Do I need to validate my own existence with the number of 'likes' or positive remarks I get?
5. Will the balance of political harmony between the hemispheres and the superpowers be affected if I share this?
6. Will the Earth spin off its axis and disintegrate if I don't share this?
If the majority of your answers to the above questions is 'No', then do yourself (and everyone else) a favour and don't post it. NOBODY CARES.
So, is everyone going to give me their two bob's worth on my buggered washing machine? Mr Bingells has been making enquiries because the rotten thing is still under warranty. In the meantime, I schlepped three full washing baskets to my local laundrette today. As I emptied one of them, to my abject horror two socks went fluttering over the back of the machine. It is a cliché that a sock will disappear during the washing, but these two - not even a pair - went over the back, twisting and spiralling like two synchronised divers. I moved a small table and craned my neck behind the row of machines. Sure enough, the rotten fuckers had landed right where I just...couldn't...REACH. I was there alone. The business was self-serve only today whilst the proprietors and staff are enjoying Christmas. Sure, I could have left the socks there. After all, it wasn't like a litter of puppies had fallen down a drain. But losing socks just annoys me. Being unmanned as the business was, I couldn't ask one of the staff to lend me a broom. Then as I looked out the window, blowing out an exasperated breath, I saw him. A benign looking older gentleman crossing the road towards the laundrette. The gentleman was using a mobility aid, to wit, a walking stick. Fixing a pleasant smile on my face (which given my current mental state probably made me look like a frightened chimp), I walked out to him and asked could he help me. Bless him, he did. He came into the laundrette and graciously passed me his walking stick, which I used to drag my wayward socks back to me. 'You women,' he chortled, 'youse are always dropping things.' I knew it would not be politic to take him to task over his perceived sexism, so I merely smiled sweetly and coquettishly as I handed him back his walking stick. I am glad I didn't drop his walking stick behind the machine, to keep company with my socks. I then threw my socks into a machine. They are now clean and folded, waiting to be put into their drawer.
Organising a wedding is nearly always rife with politics. Mine wasn't too bad, although I did have the usual arguments about how No, We're Not Inviting ANY Kids And That Includes Yours Because We Don't Want Kids There (Particularly Yours), and Nobody Told Me You Don't Drink And It Doesn't Matter That The Dishes Are Cooked In Wine Because Alcohol Evaporates During Cooking So Just Fucking Eat What The Caterer Is Preparing, and I Don't Care What You Do Between The Service And The Reception And If You Can't Entertain Yourself Don't Bother Coming, and I Am Neither Clairvoyant Nor A Meteorologist So I Don't Know What The Weather Is Going To Be Like And Bring A Cardigan If You're Worried, and We Are Not Having A Full Nuptial Mass Because The Pews In The Church Are Execrable And Everyone Will Have Backache By The Time It's Over. Jeez, Louise! I've been married nineteen years and I still feel my teeth getting on edge remember some of the insignificant yet irritating things you find yourself arguing about when arranging the Big Day. And yes, there were annoying squabbles about whether this person should be invited, and whether that person should be invited, and not to sit this person next to have person because these persons apparently don't know how to behave at a function that's really not about them, anyway. My point is, I'm glad I'm not Prince Harry and Meghan Markle at the moment. The British government are urging them to not invite the Obamas (who are friends) because there is a chance President Donald Trump could be offended. Oh, FFS! The wedding is a Royal occasion, not a State occasion. If Trump is going to have a sook because the Obamas have been invited, then let him. We'll all read about it on Twitter, and have a laugh at him. If he's that much of a painful guest, like the obligatory great-uncle who cracks racist and/or sexist jokes, and whom everyone tries to avoid but must be invited because he just must, well, just sit Trump at a place from where he cannot be seen from the bridal tableau. Maybe behind a pillar, or sit some tall people between the wedding party and him. Problem solved. Harry and Megan, invite the people YOU want to invite.
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