Showing posts with label monologues. Show all posts
Showing posts with label monologues. Show all posts

Thursday, February 05, 2009

public monologues

I’ve really got to stop talking to myself.

I’m in Woolies last night and it’s like, “Ooh hotdogs. You see that Peas? Hotdogs. When last did you have one of those little fuckers, 8000 years ago?”

To which the housewife wearing Laura Ashley and carrying a basket (I never carry a fucking basket. End up carrying things in my hands, between my boobs, under my chin, while muttering, “You know Peas, you should learn how to get a basket,” and throngs of housewives look at me with that disapproving eye. And they always have straight hair.)

It’s the disapproving, disgruntled motherly eye that’s driving me insane. What, so you’re over 50. Haven’t you heard the word ‘fuck’ before? What, sorry, if you used the words “gosh” and “Oh my word” in the 70s, but don’t pretend the word “fuck” doesn’t exist, because it fucking does. And sometimes when I'm choosing between a Cottage Pie and a Mediterranean-style Potato Bake for my dinner, it slips out.

You get the feeling they're thinking, "Does she know we're here?"

And just so you know, I heard the Queen use it once.*

So yeah, talking to oneself in public.

Whatchagonnado. It’s not a bad habit unless you’re openly insulting someone to yourself. Like “Jesus, that chick’s thighs are Off. The. Charts.” And she overhears you.

Which I don’t do.

Do talk to myself within the safety of my car, and like yesterday when I saw this dude bent over his bonnet and his head looked nice from behind, I started chatting manically to myself when he saw me checking out his posterior.
It’s also a nervous thing.

So do I really need to stop?

Fuck whatever. It’s the ever-judging mothers that are the brunt of my annoyance this morning, not the urge to curb the public monologues with myself, if I’m honest.

It's just that I've noticed my verbal ramblings because they're louder now. I had to stop myself this morning when I got out my car in the office parking lot. "Fuck! What a liddle CRACKER! God I love Dr Dre."

The pilates instructor broke me yesterday. Hello Hamstrings, my name is Peas.

* It’s when Prince Phil said something inappropriate [again] about people who hail from the orient. I think.