Bitch on the Blog

October 25, 2017

The big question

Filed under: Accuracy,Amusement,Future — bitchontheblog @ 15:57
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Don’t I just love being caught clueless when someone asks me to guess their age.

There was a time when it was easy to narrow it down. Now? I don’t know what’s happened since but it ain’t easy any longer. And I have hunches like a blood hound. So bloody, that the other day a guy I’d had only just met as part of a group of unknown to me “youngish” people asked me, in a slightly coquettish way, how old I thought he was. Brilliant. I don’t like to disappoint people so I played the game. Long hair tied back into a pony tail. A looker. Pretty laid back. Positive about Brexit (and he was a “foreigner” living in England). So on that evidence and considering I’d only set eyes on him ten minutes earlier and he’d barely said anything since his two friends dominated the conversation I had to think on my feet.

There is one rule when people ask you how old you think they are: You think one thing, you take between two and four years off (when they hover around sixty or eighty five). That’s basic maths. Still, I don’t play by rules, so I say it as I see it. I gave it a little time. Looked him not so much up and down as settled on his face and demeanour. Assessing the little info garnered so far whilst he looked at me expectantly, saying “come on”. Ok, I said, 28. At which he excused himself under cover of needing to fetch himself a drink. Oh did his friends laugh. Thirty eight more like it, they sniggered, you have made his day. Though why it would make anyone’s day to be taken for younger than you are before you hit fifty is beyond me. If anything it’s an insult.

U

 

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October 5, 2017

Purr

I need a reference point for reasons – in the context of this post – not important. Let’s just say that I need to put my mind to rest. Not least because my mother makes me wince every so often when she “remembers” things in my life she wasn’t even present at better than I do. Now? Now I don’t say anything any longer to correct her. Not since, about ten days ago, I sat next to a lovely lady two years my mother’s senior who was switched on, inquisitive, funny, lively – except every fifteen minutes or so she’d ask me whether I had any children. Having covered the subject of the Angel’s existence several times during our two hour wait my penny suddenly dropped. OH MY GOD. So this is how decline (ever so barely noticeable) manifests itself. No wonder my mother recently apologized to me for upsetting me profoundly. Unfortunately, what she apologized for wasn’t what I had taken offence at. WHAT the …? I left it. Thanked her for her apology. I don’t think she is interested in detail any longer. Main thing is that everything is hunky dory. “All I want is to be good with you”, she says. I do have to rejig my mind set when talking with her in future.

The reference point I need is for a period of utter chaos in my life (ca. eight/nine years or so ago). A few details a little hazy. A couple of days ago I realized that I remembered something that is, chronologically, not possible. So, anyway, and do laugh, I phoned the veterinary practice and asked whether they keep records from many years ago. Yes, they do. Great. Can you please tell me the date when my cat Bouncer (reference point) was put down?

Bloody blasted hell (and only my refined upbringing stops me from using all the swearwords I can muster to express my utter disgust at what the world of information has come to). They can’t give me the date of my OWN cat’s death over the phone because of data protection. Short of my date of birth which they didn’t request I gave the receptionist all the data she needed to conclude that I am not a Russian agent spying on myself. No doing. On top of which she kept calling me “My Lovely”. What’s wrong with the British? Emotionally stunted they proceed to call complete strangers “Love” and “Deary”.

I am now in the recovering position. Next stop on my journey through life? Extracting my own teeth.

U

July 2, 2017

Limitations

Filed under: Communication,Ethics,Exasperation,Future,Observations — bitchontheblog @ 20:06
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I may have mentioned this before. If so please attribute it to occupying my brain in an increasingly unnerving manner.

It’s vexing. Any advice gladly received. What do you do when people get older? Do you actually argue a point, set them straight as to the facts or just leave be? Obviously the latter the easy option. But also … I don’t know … condescending? Yet, what’s the point to put a point when someone (by virtue of age) is more or less on the way out? What purpose does concrete information serve? I think the answer is: None. Yet when does the point in someone’s life come when it appears kinder to just nod?

I don’t like to use Americanisms yet a useful one here: I feel “conflicted”. If ever there was a shorthand for being between a rock and a hard place it’s downright “conflicted”.

To reiterate: Is it worth it to point out errors or, less challenging, just put a different point of view when that person can’t make future use of being informed as their time is almost upon them?

I don’t know. It’s painful.

U

March 4, 2011

Fast forward

Filed under: Errors,Family — bitchontheblog @ 19:29
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THOUGH SHALT NOT GOOGLE YOURSELF or the wrath of a telephone directory will be upon you.

There are three entries in “192” as to my name: All the people, apart from one, I am supposed to have shared the same roof with are unknown to me. Just saying …

However, my move to Southampton has aged me considerably: According to the electoral roll they use to garner their misleading info I fall into the 65+ age group. Which doesn’t matter, except that I can not allow my father’s reputation to be smeared: He did NOT father a child at age 8 (he is now 73).  And my poor mother was 22 when I was born. What would that make her? Thus reputations are trashed.

U

February 2, 2010

Down the drain

Filed under: Despair — bitchontheblog @ 11:41
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May I quote my bosom pal’s last contribution to leveraged intelligence: “One of the beauties of ripening like a fine wine – also known as ageing – is the growing appreciation of gentle intelligence.”

Conrad, please do pass me the sick bag.

Ageing does not make a FINE wine per se.  A lot of wines best drunk young. As any grape grower will tell you, indeed I will tell you: Many an aged bottle is CORKED. But then it takes more than one taste bud to discern the difference between platitude and vacuity. And what on earth is “gentle” intelligence? The tree hugging equivalent of a sharp mind?

U

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