(Try and guess my mood!)
Another reason why I am not a very nice person: When my husband gets sick, although I feign sympathy, really I'm mad.
Two things I'm tired of: foodie kids and rocker kids. Or maybe I'm just tired of their braggy (M's word) parents. And no, I'm not interested in delving into the autophobic implications of those statements coming from the mouth (keyboard) of the mother of a foodie kid and two rocker kids.
I'm not sure which of these principles the other people in my household operate on: wherever you put something, there it should stay, OR things put themselves away, so I don't need to worry about it.
Were we to meet in real life, I'm quite certain that Hugh Grant would find me at best uninteresting, at worst appalling. I probably wouldn't like him much either. But the allure of the fantasized persona is nevertheless powerful. [This should link to the Vogue profile of Hugh Grant, but the Vogue website is absolutely incomprehensible, so it doesn't.]
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2 comments:
I get mad too.
The hell with the cooking/clubbing?
Things don't put themselves away? Huh.
Hugh. Yum. Sorry, but it's true.
Are you channeling my thoughts again, Becca? It's really frightening how someone I've never met can be living my same life, down to the sick husband I'm (not so) secretly furious with for daring to get a cold and the annoyance with braggy parents and the wondering about what exactly other people in the house believe about how cupboards get closed and stuff put away. And also Hugh.
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