Alternative title: I met God’s gift to women and boy was I disappointed…
“Oi luv, you could have at least made an effort! Could have put some make up on and brushed your hair…ugly bitch” the guy sniggered as he pushed past me.
As you can imagine, I didn’t take that statement (or the shove) well.
“Oh, I’m sorry if my face offends you…I didn’t realise I had to seek approval from the local turd for brains before leaving the house”
“…Well, I was just sayi-”
“As for ‘effort’, I’m afraid that’s all concentrated on ensuring that 1. I don’t hurk bile into my snood because not only does that burn all the way from the stomach up, especially when comes out of the nose, but it’s also not a nice colour to stain fabric and 2. I’m concerned that should I yawn or sneeze with too much ‘effort’ I may take a dump in my pants which considering how light my trousers are would be an epic error in judgement…”
“…Erm, I didn’t need to-” the gormless grin had disappeared from his face.
“It may be sodding Cholera for all you know!” I yelled as he made a swift exit, slipping in dog turd as he went.
It’s not Cholera, chances are it’s just one of those unfortunate tummy bugs that gives you the amazing superpower of chundering and crapping simultaneously into the same toilet bowl (oh yeah, ‘Britain’s Got Talent‘!)…Combined with sleepless nights (due to talking to Ralph on the big white telephone) and dehydration I probably looked like a stunning addition to the next George A.Romero movie.
I can safely say that no amount of make up was going to make me look any less revolting; a dash of foundation, a swish of lippy, a brush of mascara and *boom* suddenly Vogue are calling to see if I can take time out of my busy schedule as an office monkey to model for their next cover. Yeah right. If anything it would add to the skin flare up (as my Acne likes to kick me when I’m down…git…probably owns a pair of unicorn slippers too) and I would end up with Mount Vesuvius erupting all over my forehead at the most inappropriate of moments, for example when eating Monster Munch (that was a very bad day).
Clearly I had missed the memo stating that women of the UK were now required by law to wear make up by the bucket load so the shallow blokes in the population wouldn’t see what an epic shit storm our faces are when we feel a bit on the rough side. Clearly it must be such a traumatizing thing to witness and they will spend years having nightmares about the ashen faced lurgy ridden ladies. Clearly the female of the species should be all dolled up and looking sexy as, even when evacuating water from their bowels.
I should probably have stayed silent on the issue, I should have just accepted the fact that yes I looked terrible and that yes my appearance warranted urgent attention. But I’m tired, and fed up, and ill, and I also have a short fuse when it comes to this sort of thing. If I’d let the guy walk off without saying anything then I would have brooded about this issue all day and written a blogpost about my bowel movements….As it is, I ranted at him about it, brooded about it and wrote this post about my bowel movements, safe in the knowledge that the guy was freaked out by the idea of me barfing into a snood and filling my pants.
**EDIT – I’ve come to the realisation that I talk about poop way too much**