Wednesday, 30 September 2015

The Killing of Kitty

Is a hospital really a place that could be more depressing? I mean with all the death and sickness you think that that's probably it...if you're sad there it probably can't get any worse. Right? Wrong! Last night I found myself at the walk in centre, which is the part of the hospital that is an out of hours doctors. I sat there coughing into my scarf, coughing a cough that is more like a scream, a bark, a cry for help from my diseased lungs. I looked up to see a smug mum giving me evils...I say a smug mum because she was one of those perfect 2.4 family's sitting there with her equally smug looking husband with a smug looking beard, rocking their perfectly smug looking (albeit a bit snotty) angelic cherub in his perfectly toned arms whilst simultaneously reading a smug looking pyjama clad 7 year old a book on fucking anthropology or something because obviously the child is a genius and already has 3 more GCSE's than me. (To be clear the child probably has 5 GCSE's - I have two...well one and half...ok one and a lie....)

Anyway I look around trying to avoid glaring back at smug mums accusing eyes, trying not to shout 'Dude your kids already sick don't blame me!' But it seems unfair to rub it in that her child is unwell although it's not crying much and seems fine to me (clearly an expert) and that that child will 100% be seen before me because well age before beauty and even if it was beauty before age (which my feminism is categorically against) I look like I've been hit with a bat in each eye a few times my hair hasn't been washed for nearly a week and I am looking like I had the life and blood and colour sucked out of me by a very unsexy vampire who is possibly now very regretful of picking me as his supper because of two reasons 1. I eat shit loads of garlic. 2. His sinuses will be filling up with fluorescent mucus faster than David Cameron cancelled his bacon sandwich on Monday morning!
Anyway I digress...I notice that I'm literally the only single person in this waiting room. Not only am I getting looks of disgust, I'm also receiving looks of pity! The bastards! Maybe I don't want a perfect husband with a perfect beard! Well ok I do, but I don't want a perfect one, imagine someone who outshines you constantly! Imagine being with someone who can grow a better beard than you....

Obviously I know this family probably isn't perfect and perhaps he's grown a beard because he thinks he's getting old and wants to be hip and interesting, he's probably hiding a growth or a facial tattoo or something and she's probably really racist. Yeah that's it. Anyway in the midst of trying to ignore all this smugness and disgustingly prominent displays of love *sob* I am furiously scrolling through my Facebook, eyes fixedly on my phone not daring to make eye contact with anyone ever again. Ever. I finally come to a post from my very beloved long distance comedy boyfriend (he is not really my boyfriend but he's all I've got) to discover he's bloody KILLED ME OFF!!! 'Widowed' his post says!! I've been dumped many times but this is a first!!

Yours from the grave, Kitty Lo