Considering my exceedingly high standards, lifelong pursuit of perfection, and the fact that my childhood nickname at home was “Prim and Proper,” it should come as no surprise that there are a myriad of things I find revolting.
Slovenliness. Sloth. Scanty clothing (unless worn by men with the physique of Jean-Claude Van Damme). Public displays of affection. Cats. Meat. Alcohol. And, of course, all forms of antisocial behaviour, including, but not limited to, spitting, shouting, urinating in public, and failing to form an orderly queue.
I could go on, but I am not one given to verbosity.
Neither am I much given to caring about anything beyond my family, friends, and chickens. Once upon a time, I was a bleeding heart, agonising over starving babies in Biafra, the Sandinistas, the fate of humanity, the shrinking Amazon rainforest, and the imminent extinction of the sharp-snouted day frog.
But now that I understand we are likely living in a programmed reality — that all the world’s a stage and the show must go on — I confine my concerns to the smaller picture. There’s little point having a coronary over a landslide killing 100 in Mongolia, when there's not a bloody thing you can do about it.
If I did have a heart attack, it would be a miracle. Sure, amn’t I slim, trim, and brimful of energy? I don’t eat rubbish, I walk miles around in circles every day, I keep well clear of the medical profession, and I don’t worry about a thing.
If the impossible did happen and my heart broke, I’d take it as proof that all my healthy habits were in vain. I’d give up training, buy a television, and spend the rest of my days sitting on the couch eating doughnuts.
It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if my so-called healthy lifestyle turns out to be a waste of time and ends with me babbling incoherently in some care home. I mean, my brother is enormously fat, eats cake all day, and never walks further than the postbox, yet at sixty-seven, he’s never known a day’s illness.
And isn’t everything in this mad world inverted? Left is right, right is wrong, and Glamour UK has given its “Women of the Year” award to nine men.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
Posted in response to galenkp's weekend experience
prompt asking: Name three things that you care about and explain why. What revolts you and why?and, You have a heart attack but survive...what things do you change about your life and why?
The images are mine