Michael came home for lunch. He was tired so chose to have a lie down after eating. He was asleep in about thirty seconds. Then another interruption. I was forceful to the perpetrator. Peace was restored for the rest of the day.
I was reminded of the movie "10 Things I Hate About You" loosely based on "The Taming of the Shrew". Which caused me to ponder my own personal dislikes and wonder if many others shared these. I look forward to reading your comments to either confirm I have legitimate grievances or am as mad as a cut snake.
So, in no particular order, here are 10 of my pet hates -
- eggplant - the texture is akin to exceedingly stout walking boots, the colour is an unpleasant shade of purple and the preparation is tedious and time-consuming. And the texture remains alarmingly similar to tough leather, even after cooking.
- Brussel sprouts - I must admit I once had soup where Brussel sprouts were the principal ingredient and the concoction was reasonably tasty. However, if I imagine Brussel sprouts, I can only picture the pale, boiled-to-death cannonballs my mother used to present as a vegetable. The smell was awful, but eating them was worse.
- early visitors - this is a tricky one. I enjoy people turning up at the House that Rocks. Most of our friends know that if they arrive without notice, Michael and I may well be in a state of undress. However, if I've invited friends for a meal, I am never ready early. Those who dare will witness my interpretation of a headless chook. You have all been warned.
- bras - I loathe this element of clothing. In hot weather, sweat gathers in pools in the bottom of my bra and eventually trickles down my tummy when the dam bursts. They are never comfortable and the straps always end up halfway down my arms. One of the advantages of living in a country town is that I only wear a bra if I'm going to be in genteel company.
- the position of the toilet roll - there is only one way to position the toilet roll - outwards.
- wee on the floor in front of the toilet - blokes, for God's sake, just aim correctly. If you can't control Percy, sit down on the seat. I always end up standing in unmentionable drips. Yuk.
- boulders in the bed - I admit this. I have become slack about bed making over the last few years and often, the bed is exactly the same as when we reluctantly rose in the morning. However, Madame Cat is responsible for leaving sand and dirt in the bed. In due course, I feel like I'm a character in "The Princess and the Pea". What appears to be a log under my shoulder blades inevitably turns out to be the size of a flea. The resulting angst means the sheets will be shaken out at the very least or changed if deemed Beyond a Joke.
- Dog pooh on Sascha's bedding - this is always the result of the Beagle's revolting habits. She is a total witch, bringing aged morsels into the dog bunk beds which she enjoys in Sascha's bed, not her own. I am always furious at Ruby, but anger is completely wasted on her. Ruby is as thick as two short planks.
- The current Australian government - self-explanatory.
And last not definitely not least -
- Bloody call centres - we were rung repeatedly on the landline today. I know the operatives are not to blame. They are only doing their jobs. I blame the government (see above) for outsourcing so many services. When I am talking to a person called "Elaine" in the Philippines about living in a small rural town, they just do not get it. How can they? This afternoon, when Michael was asleep, I'd had enough. Picking up the phone, for the fifth time, waiting for the pause, I then blasted the person of the other end. "Go away, my husband is sick". A lie, I admit, but justified in my opinion. Silence reigned after that call.
I feel much better now. Venting spleen is a useful exercise. I eagerly await pet hates of anyone who reads this post. Don't be shy. Let rip!
Call Centre 1
Call centre 2
My reaction this afternoon
Then blessed silence.
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