Waiter, there's a ...

 It's fun to write about the things that irritate, grind one's gears, even boil one's piss, as it were. I'm a bit like this with Facebook cartoon avatars that depict the account owner bellowing into a bullhorn when said account holder is making a statement. I honestly don't know why, but they make me frown. The game Monopoly bugs me, it is phenomenally boring and goes on and on and on. It is a turd that won't flush, and I will not be enticed into playing it 

I felt bugged on Christmas Day watching Love Actually. I think I wanted to engage in a Christmas tradition, and yeah, I got irritated. I refuse to suspend my belief that the Kris Marshall character will fly to America and nail three good-looking women (although in fairness, they were all as dumb as a box of hair). And I haven't even started on my irritation at Sarah for not turning off her phone and jumping Karl's bones. 

But there is nothing quite so annoying as anticipating a pleasant luncheon date, only to have it go completely pear-shaped. This happened to me, my husband, and our eldest son yesterday. As an aside, our younger son had his own moment of irritation when the drone he had been given for Christmas took off in the wind like a demented Mary Poppins. He was somewhat despondent, but after some scouring of the neighbouring streets, his gift was located, albeit with a slightly chewed blade, courtesy of some mutt. 

But getting back to the lunch: we visited a local eatery, which I now realise should be recategorised as a chew-and-spew, and duly ordered or meals. We waited. And waited. And waited some more. Finally, my husband spoke to management. It transpired that our order had been misplaced. When the meals arrived, closer to afternoon teatime than lunch, it was discovered my husband's steak had not been cooked to his specifications. But imagine this scene:

Husband: 'This isn't cooked properly; I'm sending it back-' (eyes protruding from the sockets like deployed airbags) '- Jesus Christ!' 

Me (eyes also widening): "What the fuck?"

Son: "Bloody hell!"

And what brought on this abjection? Well, traversing its confused way through the shredded lettuce in the side salad, waving its hairsbreadth legs with trepidation, was a frigging SPIDER! Not a huge hunstman or anything like that, but an arachnoid in the salad is an arachnoid in the salad. It has raised the bar from the old 'There's a fly in my soup!' trope. 

That meal was sent back faster than Usain Bolt chasing after a bus.