The world is divided in two. It's divided into two big sects of society, and naturally the difference revolves around me. So here we go: approximately half of this slowy dying planet's population, upon seeing me look through a car window, assume I'm casing the joint, and will soon return with my sledge hammer and rave music. The other half know fine well that I'm checking my reflection. While many of you might dismiss this as a poofish thing to do, you try living with a face like mine, i.e. a face you know is utterly perfect, yet you can't look at. You'd end up checking yourself out now and then, trust me. Anyway, I don't really need to justify myself, most people have got used to me by now.
Still, one thing that ceaselessly annoys me is the rest of the worlds blatant failure to even try and understand me. It's not really that difficult. You see, I like to think of myself as a complicated person, which obviously means I'm not. This general rule of opposites apllies to most people, although there are some people who would consider themselves simple who just... are. Anyway, now we've eliminated half the world as ageist crime fighters on acid, even amongst my own I'm not properly understood.
I think this has something to do with where I live. You see, I was talking with my Cambridgeshire bound cousin the other day (When I say talking, I mean we were just about scraping together a meaningful inter-species conversation. Compared to him, a prime example of humans' successful evolution and intelligence, I look a bit like one of those squidgy watery insecty things in the old guiness advert- woop if you remember it- or maybe just a toothbrush. He really is very clever. Anyway...) when we got onto the subject of our respective locations. While I limited myself to mildly insulting posh puns, he, in a shocking abandonement of civilty, went on and on about us northeners and our brand new hi-tech wooly jumpers, or unnnecessary lack of them.
But on the same day, I was talking to a scottish person and a person who lives quite near to me, and apparently they'd both been living under the illusion I came from down south, because of my annoying habit of using multi-syllabular words.
So that's it then, I'm a half-caste, not quite clicking with those who are older than me, the same age as me, who live far away from me, who live far away from me in the other direction, or who live near to me. Does this mean I shall be banished to the midlands where I shall be forced to be middle-aged? Oh, the horror. Hmmm, maybe, but somehow I doubt that. You see, I'm simple to understand, as we've already established. So how come no-one's got around to understanding me then? I think I've worked it out. I'm simple, but everyone else is even simpler. Apart from my friends and family. They're complicated in strange, disturbing, yet funny ways. They don't understand me because frankly they can't be arsed, and I applaud them for it.
Two last things. I woke up in the middle of the night a couple of days ago and found myself sleeping in a shoulder stand. Just thought you'd like to know. Also, in French, tights (Le Collants) are masculine and single. From which it seems to have been deduced by someone ***Ruth*** that all French men in tights are single. I disagree, I think the opposite. All single French men are obviously tight.
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