“Did you know that in the 1880s, the fashion technology of the day meant the support for a ladies décolletage was not as rigid as it is today. So, as is the way for the French, the Eiffel Tower was designed to mimic the shape of the space that existed in the middle of a woman’s cleavage, mirroring the negative spaces carved out by the curve of each breast?” said Gasbag in an effort to show me up. I didn’t know that, but I never lose such exchanges, no one beats Bluster in a verbal bout of mental dexterity.
“That I had heard,” I reply, “Got the idea from the champagne glass I do believe, you can’t keep a Frenchman’s mind out of the gutter, they invented photography don’t you know, and latex and binoculars, saucy buggers they are. Now my dear fellow, did you know that US Marines used to be taught that if they didn’t understand an order, they were to shout out to their commanding officer, ‘Simplify!” One day some smarmy public relations type decided that this played into the stereotype that all the enlisted soldiers were mentally deficient, and so they changed it to Semper Fi.”
The author would like to note that you probably should not use these facts in you own conversations as he made most of them up.
Instalment Fifty Nine
“This has gone on long enough. I think we should call it Quits,” he snaps as I pick up our son, hooking him on my hip. Sometimes it helps and he stops crying. Sometimes it doesn’t. The yelling doesn’t help. You’d think he’d be used to it by now.
We shouldn’t have had a baby. It was one of those, we’re growing apart maybe a child will keep us together decisions that you hear about couples making and shake your head. We got pregnant and the fighting didn’t stop. We fought when the little stick turned blue. We fought at the first ultra scan. We fought over finding out the sex. We were fighting in the delivery room as our child took its first breath. We fought because he had my eyes. We fought.
Now, with the baby about to turn one he comes out with this.
“Quits?” I say with scorn, but already I know it’s too late. I’m tired, why fight any more? I just can’t do it.
We have to stop fighting. We have to name the baby sometime.
“Quits Quarrel, sure,” I concede, “Sounds like a superhero.”
“I knew you’d try and ruin it,” he screams.
We shouldn’t have had a baby. It was one of those, we’re growing apart maybe a child will keep us together decisions that you hear about couples making and shake your head. We got pregnant and the fighting didn’t stop. We fought when the little stick turned blue. We fought at the first ultra scan. We fought over finding out the sex. We were fighting in the delivery room as our child took its first breath. We fought because he had my eyes. We fought.
Now, with the baby about to turn one he comes out with this.
“Quits?” I say with scorn, but already I know it’s too late. I’m tired, why fight any more? I just can’t do it.
We have to stop fighting. We have to name the baby sometime.
“Quits Quarrel, sure,” I concede, “Sounds like a superhero.”
“I knew you’d try and ruin it,” he screams.
Instalment Fifty Eight
The advice I’d been given if I got nervous was to picture the audience naked. No help at all. At first I felt like I was a hoedown caller at the world’s most ordered and polite orgy, all those naked bodies sitting in rows awaiting instructions. Then I started examining the crowd, there were some good looking ladies sitting naked in my imagination leading me to visibly awkward thoughts.
What advice do they give to public speakers at nudist conventions?
Then I remember my greatest fear of public speaking. Other people speaking. God it’s tedious! Not just corporate but wedding speeches, lord they make me squirm.
I’d much rather be up here, heart racing , stewing in my own sweat, than down there listening to me like those suckers. Either you’re fighting to stay awake, head nodding, unable to battle the sweet siren call of sleep or you’re driven insane by banal, pointless drivel, which if you’re especially unlucky is peppered with “safe” workplace jokes. And social speeches! Those jokes are no longer safe and just make you want to hide. Much better be the one up here speaking.
“Good morning, my name is Anxious and I’m a sex addict.”
What advice do they give to public speakers at nudist conventions?
Then I remember my greatest fear of public speaking. Other people speaking. God it’s tedious! Not just corporate but wedding speeches, lord they make me squirm.
I’d much rather be up here, heart racing , stewing in my own sweat, than down there listening to me like those suckers. Either you’re fighting to stay awake, head nodding, unable to battle the sweet siren call of sleep or you’re driven insane by banal, pointless drivel, which if you’re especially unlucky is peppered with “safe” workplace jokes. And social speeches! Those jokes are no longer safe and just make you want to hide. Much better be the one up here speaking.
“Good morning, my name is Anxious and I’m a sex addict.”
Instalment Fifty Seven
The first thing I ever got right on the first try was this sentence.
The only thing I ever got right on my first try was this sentence.
I put the pen down and shook my head.
This was no way to begin a suicide note.
I wrote one years ago that said, I'm not mad at anybody, this is just something I wanted to do for myself, but it turns out that was a quote from somebody or other and I didn’t want to lay my death at their door.
Wish you were here?
No, too angsty.
I need to get at the reason for ending it all, something that will “WOW” people.
Statistically life is all bad news. It’s not like there are millions of cars or viruses or cancers that strike you down with good fortune, but there are millions of cars or viruses or cancers that will kill or cripple you. No one ever gets bowled over by a money bus crossing the street.
The world is a fucking rotten place and I refuse to take part in it.
Signed,
Melancholy
I can not wait to see the looks on their faces when they read that.
The only thing I ever got right on my first try was this sentence.
I put the pen down and shook my head.
This was no way to begin a suicide note.
I wrote one years ago that said, I'm not mad at anybody, this is just something I wanted to do for myself, but it turns out that was a quote from somebody or other and I didn’t want to lay my death at their door.
Wish you were here?
No, too angsty.
I need to get at the reason for ending it all, something that will “WOW” people.
Statistically life is all bad news. It’s not like there are millions of cars or viruses or cancers that strike you down with good fortune, but there are millions of cars or viruses or cancers that will kill or cripple you. No one ever gets bowled over by a money bus crossing the street.
The world is a fucking rotten place and I refuse to take part in it.
Signed,
Melancholy
I can not wait to see the looks on their faces when they read that.
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