That’s a song from back when I was in secondary school. Can’t remember who sang it though. Right now, the last thing in my head is some tune that sounds like an imminent explosion. But I think it’s apt for the moment. I do feel like i’m about to burst into a thousand pieces.
Ok, yes I admit it. I have a huge ego. I don’t know who invented that lie about men having greater egos. If any man carries half of my sentiments in his heart, then this world is a grenade waiting to go off. It just so happens that I discovered this side of me within the last year of my life. I do not care to reveal the trigger for this thing….for the lack of a better word to describe my ticking bomb, always looking for an opportunity to go BOOM!
How else do i describe the urge to never apologise? I feel that the word sorry is an experiment gone wrong -though grammarians aren’t particularly known for their love of test tubes. It kills me to say it and I can’t stand hearing it either. Before you begin to crucify my non existent sense of courtesy, please hear me out. What purpose does the word serve than to make you more aggravated over the subject matter of the apology? You slapped my face and then tell me sorry. It only gingers me to retaliate. I’m ill on my sickbed and to someone say sorry. Is that going to make the chicken pox go away? And do you realise how generic the term ‘sorry’ is? Offenders, heart breakers, overzealous barbers, and even murderers all say “sorry” in the end. How more useless can a word be.
I’m not particularly crazy about guys. However they did happen on planet Earth before I did….so I learn to deal with it. But there is nothing that drives me to breaking point as much as a bunch of guys screaming at the top of their lungs over a stupid game of football. I mean, you’d think the female sex was enough of a championship….but no. They need their beloved clubs and regular 90 minutes of hypnosis. I mean, what does a football have that a woman has not?!
I love to cook. Maybe not conventional dishes, but I do like to cook. You can then understand the rage boiling inside me when I get that skeptical “so you can cook” tone. Even more painful is that look of pagan disbelief on someone’s face when they look at something you labored over and go “you really made that?” Do I have a perpetual placard in front of my head reading ‘kitchen disaster’?! It’s a pride to see my creation on a dining table and watch people enjoy it. Why is it so hard to accept that I am actually culinary literate? Is there a particular talk or walk that says oh she’s smoking hot? -I’m talking the gas cooker kind.
Have you noticed how these little things just continue to rear their ugly heads particularly in relationships? It annoys me, puzzles me…..i’m out of verbs. Romance might actually be all it’s cracked up to be if we just understand that there’s some sort of craving in all of us that has to be fed. Basically, you scratch my ego….i might even go as far as massaging yours. So do we have a deal?