Dear German Assholes

Dear German Assholes,

Firstly, allow me to begin by thanking you. Today, you selflessly performed an act of heroism that, if I had my way, would see you rewarded with things previously denied to you – diamonds, piles of cash, and adult-sized cocks cakes. For, if it hadn’t been for the three of you, cruising by in your car, taking the time out of your busy schedule to yell out vital information at me, I wouldn’t be the person I am right this very moment.

Your random act of kindness of bravely deciding to inform me that I do, indeed, have breasts has changed my life. Not only would I not be writing this post, but I might’ve been trying to arrange an appointment at a doctor’s surgery in order to discover what the hell these lumps below my neck but above my stomach are, and what the cure for such an affliction is. Let’s be honest, not only would that’ve been a complete waste of time, money and effort, but I would have ended up with rather a red face when the embarrassing truth was revealed to me! Phew, calamity avoided!

However, feel free to call me stupid (which you easily can, because I’m a female woman so I am led by my womb and emotions and therefore incapable of rational thought) but I had never realised my breasts were there. I have been dressing myself for many years now and even wearing a bra for a good deal of those, but had remained blissfully unaware of this part of my anatomy. God knows why I thought I needed a bra in the first place! Oh, I’m such a div. Serves me right for venturing out of the kitchen without permission.

If you would ever like me to return the favour, simply get in touch. It can be arranged for you to stroll along a public street, minding your own business, whilst I go past with some friends in a car and we yell out features of your physical appearance. Perhaps you are unaware of your own chest? Maybe you have developed a fine set of man boobs over the last few years? Do you have genitals? Perhaps they are rather hard to find? (Just like my chest, apparently.)

However, it doesn’t necessarily have to be a physical attribute; perhaps you don’t realise how intelligent you seem to strangers? Or maybe you are not sure just how your attitude towards women is exactly what is needed in the 21st century? That your resolute decision to stick to your principles and not be affected by the attempts of “forward-thinking, namby-pamby, PC-brigades” to change how you treat women is a shining beacon of light to all men, in all countries? This seems unlikely though, as people as astute and sharp as you all are surely aware of how fantastic they truly are.

Sadly, I know that many short-sighted women would have felt angry, insulted or ashamed in the moments following your outburst, and interpreted your altruistic act of speaking out merely as a prime example of sexist, Neanderthal behaviour. I say to these women: more fool you, more fool you.

Yours sincerely,

The Woman With The Breasts

P.S. Perhaps you are wondering why I have addressed you as ‘assholes’ given how grateful I am to you. This is merely designed to entice more readers to this post and spread the word of your good work. You dickish, cat-shit-for-brains, ass clowns.

Your children are boring

The further along my 20s I move, the more clogged my social media newsfeeds become with posts and pictures about the children of people I used to know and people I know now. I can guess your reaction at the moment and it will probably fall into one of two categories:

1. Turn off your computer/phone – then you won’t have to deal with it.

2. No ring and no babies, hey? Jealousy is not a good look on you.

Allow me to respond: I don’t spend that much time on these sites, and I do genuinely like many of the people who post yawn-inducing information about their pooping machines, but as they become increasingly common, it makes me wonder how fascinating these people really believe their children to be. I am one of those ‘freaks’ who doesn’t want children, but would prefer a career, spit-free clothing, time to myself and the freedom to get drunk on weekdays to the time-demanding and positively knackering route of motherhood.

I have respect for the people who make it through parenthood with their sanity and house (vaguely) intact. Well done. But I also note that there’s a double standard running through our culture at the moment: choose to only post pictures of yourself/your holiday/the view from your hotel/an update about how you completely nailed all your work that week and deserve a pay rise, and there are many who would denounce you as self-absorbed, or a show off. Complaining about the unrepentent narcissim of the younger generations is the third most popular past time of the over 40s. But parents have been harping on about their sprogs for GENERATIONS and they demand expect you to coo and marvel at their ability to produce tots that can walk. And laugh. And fall over. (Although watching kids get wiped out by footballs/cats/other kids can be pretty entertaining.)

I never have the guts to tell these people just how tedious I find constant updates of little Joshy’s growth spurt, so instead I have compiled a list of things which have more entertainment value than other people’s children:

1. This adorable rabbit:

 

2. This shocking, error-based statistic:

3. David Cameron looking like an idiot:

4. This shot of Edward Miliband playing cricket with an invisible ball:

5. A roast:

6. This stick:

7. This picture of Phil Neville, (a man labelled as the most boring commentator on TV) taking a picture on his iPad, of something I can’t see:

8. This pack of cotton buds:

9. This picture of a corridor. Look, it has doors coming off and everything:

10. This stick. Again.

I do wonder how parents feel if every single person around them doesn’t jump to attention and immediately begin cooing whenever their child shits itself or hiccoughs. But then again, I’m not a parent, so I just wouldn’t understand, even if they told me…

Yawn

Twitter: @nickconfessore

I saw this on the internet today and thought it was brilliant.

To all the journalists who couldn’t care less about “news” like this – more please!

Should I vote UKIP?

http://www.shouldivoteukip.co.uk/

Informative and in-depth analysis of the upcoming elections in the UK.

I filled in my postal ballots today for the EU, local and local mayoral elections. Voting always makes me feel like I have a voice. Don’t miss your chance to have your say, and please follow the advice above!

Me, myself and thighs

Recently, this little link popped up on my FB newsfeed. It is a very short piece about a woman who not only recognises something about her body (shock! Her thighs touch!) but also accepts it for what it is: part of her. When I was growing up, my two thighs became an obsession. In my early teens, I was a thin girl: straight up, straight down. This meant no big bum, or wide hips, but also nothing on top. When you’re the only girl left in your class who doesn’t wear a bra, you attract some unwanted attention, believe me. But whilst I may have been wishing for growth in a certain place, my legs did not even feature on the radar; there was no need for them to. Then as the hormones began to have a visible effect and I was changing, my attention was drawn downwards.

Thigh gap, that is.

I’m pretty certain that at one stage in my life, if my magic genie had appeared, proffering those three wishes, all of them would’ve been used altering my figure – plastic surgery without the expense. And one wish would’ve been wasted on my thighs. Why my legs? I suppose it’s because they were the part which showed the natural changes going on the most, and while my stomach was a huge cause for concern, at least when walking I could breathe in. Unfortunately, there was nothing like that for my legs.

I should have recognised them for what they were: two perfectly acceptable parts of a fit, functioning body. All throughout school I revelled in sport. I was studious and quiet in the classroom, only really speaking out with closer friends I felt more comfortable with, and therefore dealt the usual remarks about being smart, etc. But when it came to sports, I was useful. Small and speedy, I was a hockey, netball, rounders and tennis player. I competed in running events at sports days, even beating some boys in the year above on one occasion. None of which would’ve been possible without my legs – hated parts and all. But I didn’t recognise that, all I saw in the mirror was something which wasn’t good enough. Their ability didn’t matter, it was their appearance which I thought about, constantly.

She does not have the thighs of a child! Stone her!

The Baz Luhrmann’s song, Everyone’s Free (to Wear Sunscreen), advises you to remember the compliments and forget the insults. Something which is true and yet incredibly hard to do; if anyone has managed it, please let me know how! I would sincerely like to erase an incident from my mind: I was 16 and talking to two boys (I know, I know, I apologise for being so cliché). I should provide context here: one of them liked me (he knew his feelings weren’t reciprocated) and the other one I liked (I never dreamt of telling him. Would’ve been mortifying). The conversation shifted to me. And how I looked. “She’s thin, but she’s got quite big thighs, hasn’t she?” “Yeah, but that’s what you get when you play hockey. “I felt like I had been hit with a brick. Weren’t people who fancied you supposed to see you as perfect? And even if they didn’t, weren’t people supposed to say this kind of thing behind your back? I should’ve recognised it for what I now know it was: two boys who both liked me, weren’t going out with me and trying to make themselves feel better about it (probably). But that’s pretty hard to do when you’re a bulimic teenager with very little self-confidence. I’m not sure how I backed out of that situation. I’d like to pretend I imparted some acidic wit which showed just how little I cared and how fantastic I was, despite my ‘large legs’, but I don’t think I did.

While school may be far behind me, my thighs still play a part in my personality, sadly. I am not at peace with how I look. My concerns with my legs have lessened now, but they still dictate my outfits, how I feel about myself, how I hold myself in front of others, how I sit. (Which by the way, is crossed-legged whenever possible. Even when I am alone, I find it hard to sit with legs flat on a chair.)

There is hope on the horizon though: last summer I wore a bikini in public for the first time in seven years. And I took off the T-shirt and shorts covering it. I’ll admit, I wasn’t completely comfortable, but being with people who didn’t make me feel ashamed of what I looked like definitely helped. I am planning to repeat my amazing feat again this year, hopefully feeling more confident still. I know I have a way to walk before my thighs become my best friend, or before I can even judge them fairly, but I do believe I can get there.

 

Spotted No.5

Runaway Cone – this cone is from Avon and Somerset, found wandering the streets of East London. I think it may have been following me! 

Privatization of Privatization

In an utterly unsurprising move by the incumbent government, a democratic decision was made today by David Cameron to privatize the privatization of publically held assets.

Responding to questions during Prime Minister Question time, David Cameron had this to say: “Mwhahhhhwealth”.

In the interest of the free-market and fair, capitalist competition, everyone who paid £250,000 to have tea and scones with Mr Cameron last Wednesday was offered the chance to procure this lucrative new venture. The maid, butler and secretary couldn’t afford a voice, leaving Sir Chip Longchin of Money, Money & Moore as the lone spokesman.

The move is expected to benefit four grey men in their late sixties greatly, but offer a generally poorer service to everyone else, leading some backbench detractors to slowly shake their heads and frown. Vicount Ashford of Pleasantdale explains the wider benefits:

“It’s not just these four wealthy gentlemen who will benefit, but also their immediate family. It’s likely that a private jet will be bought, and then written off as a tax-deductable. And they will give my nephew a job, who will then be able to afford to send his children to a better boarding school”.

A spokesman for The Conservative Party explains the decision:

“One of the problems with being a politician is that we tend to think a little too ‘inside the box’. We have taken the bold move to outsource creativity. There is now a company in the Virgin Islands dedicated to thinking up innovative new ways to strip our country of natural assets. Anything we can sell really.”

The Conservative think tank Conservative Nepotism Undoes Thoughtful Socialism (CNUTS), are prepared to accept credit if the public perception is positive, or blame Labour and resign from their posts with lucrative severance packages if the Tory public relations campaign is unsuccessful, and the general public become quietly indignant.

Canvassing people’s opinion on the street, Some Ambitious Journalist spoke to Joe Smith:

“Ooh, I don’t understand that kind of thing. I just don’t want the other party to get in, because Jim down The Crown said they are going to reduce rubbish collection to once fortnightly! Can you imagine?”

Jane Willis echoed this sentiment:

“Oh yes, good. Well, I ‘m sure they know what they’re doing, these people. How else would they get those jobs they got?”

When questioned about his privatization plans moving forward, Sir Chip Longchin identified the key sectorial expansion areas earmarked for capitalization, such as education, pollination, complaining about the rich and thoughts.

Spotted no.4

Spotted this little number on the tube in London. It was a day when I was feeling that the world was pretty love-less – it cheered my soul!

Xtra Love for someone

Spotted no.3

A nubmer of pictures in one photo for you this time. Originally I just wanted a picture of the cat postcard, but I quite liked the group together.

Spotted no.2

Although written in English, this picture comes to you from the Netherlands. I spotted this sign in a furniture store during a nighttime stroll around Haarlem:

For me, the television advice used to be true, but now it needs to read: stop messing about on the internet. The online world can be a complete productivity black hole…