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Monday, November 27, 2006

Where Hate never takes a holiday

Im taking a minor rant here be warned...

I must be one of the few women in this world that dislikes shopping. Is it something that my DNA is lacking? Im not quite sure but I think I suffer pavement rage and to endure the ever increasing number of shoppers with the pending spending frenzy of christmas is not something I am looking forward to. If I hadnt maxed out my credit card I think I would be pretty organised and blaise about the whole event but even grocery shopping is bring out the Dr Evil in me.

Now its not so much the numbers that makes me want to kill with my bare hands its the lack of manners that seems to be norm for every sodding woman with either grey hair or the mature 'well turned out' fraternity. This is the very generation that beat manners into their children and yet the first sign of a silver hair its a licence to do what ever they damn well choose. An ever growing hatred in my heart blossoms constantly for these sorts.

If its not stopping in the middle of the grocery isle chatting to the other biddies with their shopping carts clogging up the whole flow of traffic (and if you say 'excuse me please could I get by' they look at you as if you have ten heads)its them skipping Ques and generally pushing you aside. Im the idiot that usually holds the door open for people until theres no one else but me to go through the door and not one of them will say thank you! Although I live in Dublin city sometimes its not always conducive to walk back home. The shopping maybe too heavy or the weather too bad and Ill catch the bus, as its the middle of the city it my route seems to be exclusive to the blue rinse brigade and although they hobble and drag themselves to the bus stop as soon as they see the No 3 its like feeding time in the serengetti. My parents instilled a good mindset of manners into me and I would always be the one to give up my seat to someone, man or woman if they needed a seat but the last time I was on the bus I offered my seat to a woman of about 60 and I was met with ' No , Im perfectly capable of standing on my own two feet' to which I replied 'Im sorry to have wasted good manners on someone like you'. Needless to say I get a taxi from now on. After this weekend, as the shopping gets thicker and nastier in my capital city I think Ill be bringing a zippo and a can of hairspray on my shopping excursions.


Crankster said...

Right there with you, Judith--the death of manners bugs me more than anything else. Recently, in the bookstore, one old lady let a couple of her friends cut in line. What the hell is this, elementary school? I know that you're feeling the reaper breathing down your neck, but you can wait in line like the rest of us!

Judith said...

They are nasty nasty harridons. They command respect in a world were they corrupt the very meaning of the word...

Wrinkly old bitches!

General Catz said...

I'm sorry, but you got a serious giggle out of me on that one. I so know what you mean!!!!

Judith said...

These women bring out a blood lust in me Something terrible , I know why youre laughing because you've probably came across the old rips on your visit here.. Thanks for stopping by!

Hammer said...

I supposedly live in one of the "kindest" US cities but I find people acting the way you describe all the time.

good rant.

Crankster said...

My favorite term is "spaghetti faces."

General Catz said...

Judith, that kind of behavior is universal! I never really noticed it in Dublin, but i did when i lived in england and of course here in america, in spades!

slaghammer said...

I think the aging/asshole syndrome you are describing is also responsible for Bermuda shorts, black knee socks and sandals, all at the same time.

Judith said...

Wouldnt you just love to confront them and shame them of their bad manners

I visited the states and lived in the uk Maybe Im just living in a highly concentrated area of these gits

the ol fog horn leghorn putdown comes to mind when read spagetti face which goes on the lines 'face like a bag of wet leather'

Is it a mandatory dress code or some secret society that geriatrics enlist in once you become a certain age and your tolerance level hits a new low?
Im begining to think the writer of Logans Run had something..