Passive aggressive club
The first rule of passive aggressive club is… you know what? Never mind, it’s FINE.
On tonight’s agenda: midnight tidying/what happens when your brain thinks falling asleep means you will die/did I just have a sex dream about Jean Claude Juncker or did I just take too much Night Nurse?/are the hours between 2am-5.30am the portal into Voldemort’s most disturbing memory bank?/what to do when you hear yourself talking at work and your exhaustion-slurring sounds like you’re drunk.
Members may bitch at length about the presents they received, particularly those disproportionate to the presents they gave, having to sleep on a mattress on the floor and being made to sit at the children’s table because their older sister still takes precedence over everything and everyone.
Panic about your age. Lie about your age. Tell everyone about your age. Cry. Eat cake. I don’t want attention/why is no one giving me attention? More crying. Also slightly drunk. Loving the birthday! Hating the birthday!
This is the club where you… wait, why are my keys in my knicker drawer?
Where you draw up the rules for the commune you will live in together because after a certain point, no one will be able to live on their own because you spent all the money you were meant to be putting into a pension on… on… OMG, where did it all go?
OK, it was never this bad before, you don’t want to be a member and where did this paranoia come from, let me eat a croissants, pronouns now becoming confused, who is even talking here, l need a bath and a new head, thank you, that is all, help me Jesus.