Thirsty Thursday: I hate when...
Sarah McCarthy’s Thirsty Thursday column is brought to you each week thanks to Invercargill-based law firm Mee & Henry Law.
Sarah McCarthy’s Thirsty Thursday column is brought to you each week thanks to Invercargill-based law firm Mee & Henry Law
THIRSTY THURSDAY 42
I let a lot of stuff go. At my advanced age, running on sputtering hormones and with a head full of half-remembered lines and plans and things I probs should fully get around to (I don’t remember the last time I washed my floor because they are wooden and therefore brown already and when I think about it I remember that old Handy Andy ad with the transparent floor and how you could see all the muck accumulating throughout the day and what I am saying to you is that if my floor were sentient it would see me through a glass darkly, henny) and so I feel like for my own WELLBEING I should just ignore the stuff that isn’t my actual problem.
Things like ham. I hate ham. I hate that it’s so very, ominously pink, and that it smells so porcine and obnoxious when it’s that week or so after Christmas and there’s a glistening knob of meat hanging about in your fridge wrapped up in a damp, hopeful tea towel.
I also hate when men, at a certain time of year, crack out the old jandals and their pale, damp-looking toes, free from their sweaty socks for the first time in months and months, are just out there in public cruising for trouble.
I hate the pop-up ads on your mobile phone and when you try and close them so you can just actually read the bloody buggery recipe they open like a deranged jack-in-the-box and suddenly your feed thinks you are interested in tractors or online gambling for the next three weeks.
I hate the Oxford comma. I understand it but I loathe it, dangling there with its posh provenance. I hate semi-colons as I am unsure of how they work and so I sometimes just panic, bang them in and hope for the best.
I hate flies and weird bits in mince (unsure as to why I needed to put those two thoughts together but here we are). I hate that cucumbers come in a random plastic sheath.
I hate when you are enjoying an extruded corn snack and it becomes pappy and sticks in your teeth like cement. I hate that I can no longer enjoy popcorn because I think I could now use my gums to sneak contraband into prisons and they are absolutely no match for a shard of kernel that will reappear in my mouth weeks after I’ve eaten it, despite vigorous brushing and probing.
I hate simple, everyday things like the gunk that accumulates around the lip of the detergent bottle and wet bread in the sink.
I hate leaving the house after 5pm and I hate having to tear myself away from a book when I’m reading and somebody want to ask me a question, such as “what do you think this thing is” (Mr mr) or “can I have this app” (small son) or “do we have a spare $40,000 for an Allosaurus skull” (big son).
And I hate wind. And pollen.
However.
These things aren’t my problem. I do not have to ham. Popcorn can be popcorn and I can be me, not popcorn. Some of my best friends like tractors.
And so what I say to you is this; (?) Despite my jandal feelings, I would not get dressed up in a special outfit and go especially to the Pop-Up Ad Club at the library and shout at the people therein. I have a feeling that if most people are okay with the Oxford comma then I should just be shush about my own personal feelings. I would not be horrible to children who are having extruded corn snacks. I would not threaten the people who interrupt me when I am reading. People are free to like ham. Ham cannot hurt me. I would Calm Down. I would Get A Life. And I would seriously question any club I was a member of that would encourage me to do otherwise. And take away their charitable status.
Also: please, please come to Shakespeare in the Park next week and see me lolloping about.
It’s free for kids and it’s free for the over-65s - even the men. And I keep my top on.
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