- The printer running out of ink – Really? Why? ‘We’ only replaced it five minutes ago. And by ‘we’, we mean ‘someone else’. What is going on? Why can’t we manage our lives? Why aren’t we coping?
- Sudden stabbing pains – We are going along minding our own business when there’s an intense, crippling, bend-us-over kind of a pain like someone is squeezing an organ and we think, ‘Ah, so it’s finally happening.’ Still haven’t written that will though.
- Property prices – Up, up, up, up, woo hoo we’re rich, but then, of course we can never move. Down, down, down and we are on a handcart to hell and can never move. Up is bad, down is bad. Trapped. Finding it ever so slightly harder to breathe.
- Bread – Little pillowy, sourdoughy, warm, toasty terrifying missiles that make Kim Jong Un look like a saint.
- Invitations – Three words: ‘Save the Date’. Three more words: ‘See you tonight’ *something just walked over our grave*
- Being found out – Yes obviously we can do this strategy report, and yes by end-of-play Wednesday. Of course the BRIC economies are not a mystery to us. Yes obviously so-and-so should activate the thing we discussed the other day. No we totally agree that the grey scheme is beyond. Can’t anyone tell that we are total imposters?????? *heads for disabled loo*
- Tempers – When we feel that boiling, uncontrollable rage and we are worried that the terrible Hulk thing is going to happen. Where the fuck did this rage come from? We are reasonable, rational, door-mattish even. So why are screaming, ‘WHERE AM I IN THIS EQUATION?’ and nearly hate-crying?
- Things breaking – The lights in the ceiling are flickering and then poof, or a bit of that chair snaps off, or the curtains are collapsing and we have neither the money, the time, nor the ladder to fix it. It will all stay slightly broken forever. Just like us. Derelicte.
- When babies cry at us – And we feel that they have looked into our souls, like tiny soothsayers, and seen the rotten core of us and now everyone assembled is staring at us and everyone knows that we are secretly bad. Bad. So bad.
- Ironing – It is laundry that is going to kill us in the end. That’s all.
- The dentist – We can take the pain. Pain is our middle name. We’ve done spin classes and watched Nashville and had thousands of Brazilians. Waxes. No, it’s the bill that hurts. £1500 for a crown? How is that going to work?
- Unexpected camera angles – Opening the computer and Facetime video pops open and suddenly all our many, many chins are there. Or a post on Facebook and we are in the background, caught unawares and making that awful anxious face that makes us look 90 years old. And – Oh God – have I got a dowager’s hump?
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