He is doing the lord’s work.
Winter is my favourite time (wish it would come sooner). It is a time of hot chocolates, pumpkin soup (sensing a theme here) and winter clothes. That glorious time when I don’t have to worry about what my body looks like. With just a jacket, scarf, and denial, I, too, can wander about in public with the certainty that I look somewhat aesthetically pleasing without any muffin tops scaring everyone away.
It is in this process I convince myself I can eat as many burgers, pizzas, and kebabs as I want. In fact, I may as well have carbs, sugar, and fat directly injected into my veins. This would at the very least cut out the middleman. I’m an adult after all. I can eat whatever I like and none of you can say otherwise. That is until the guilt and shame is directed towards myself and millions of other people through magazines, Facebook advertising (you can not escape it), the unbridled look of terror on your lover’s face when they see you naked, or the much-envied chiselled abs of fitness instructors that are seemingly glaring at you disapprovingly.
Pro Tip: Leave passive aggressive notes whenever and wherever possible.
Think you know someone? Wait until you live with them and watch them shed their “appropriate behaviour for human interaction” skin as soon as the removal van has left. Nothing is out of bounds when you are shoved into a confined space with someone for an extended period of time.
It is as if they reveal themselves, elegantly emerging from their cocoon, in a moment I could only describe as the mask-removing scene of the original Predator movie (complete with sinister laugh).
This just brings up a point of how well you know these people prior to moving in with them. It is a big test on cohabiting and sees a lot of friendships and relationships disintegrate. By the end of it, you can have a completely different perspective on that person.
The Prince Charles Cinema in London has morphsuit ninjas scaring loud people at the movies.
We’ve all been in this situation. You’ve bought your movie ticket, drinks and snacks and have just found your seat after awkwardly shuffling past people who think sucking in their gut and moving their knees slightly gives you easier access.
It doesn’t matter too much at first, because this is a movie you’ve been dying to see ever since first watching the previews. It’s that movie you love, about that thing you like, starring the person you lust after or secretly wish to be.
You look to your right and left as people also find their seats, and listen to others rustling through their assorted treats and chatting away with their friends, lovers and family.
Everyone is content and, for the most part, relaxed. Cinemas are happy places, full of widescreen wonder. The cinema goes dark and most of this hubbub dies down; that inexplicable faint smell of urine lingers in the air that everyone pretends to ignore. Your excitement peaks as the opening credits start. It’s time to quietly enjoy the movie, right?
Wrong. There’s someone near you, still chatting away on their phone about how they got so drunk on the weekend; or maybe they’ve got their feet draped over your seat, with the kind of body stench that could qualify as biological warfare and you’re left to weep silent tears as your auditory and olfactory senses are assaulted.
I read spoilers. I can’t help it. It’s like a crippling disease, like some uncontrollable nervous tic, that compels me to destroy all chances of being genuinely surprised by just about any show or movie. Upcoming Game of Thrones episodes? Already know about it. Upcoming Glee episodes? Who told you I watched Glee? Those are vicious lies and slander.
I can see the disappointment in my partner’s eyes when I confess I already knew ahead of time what was about to happen. “Why would you do that?” he says. “It makes watching a show so boring”. What would you know, disapproving soul mate? I have an awesome time. I can even pretend to be psychic with some friends. “Wouldn’t it be amazing if [insert spoiler] happened?” Oh, the fun I have.
And it doesn’t stop there. This behaviour carries over into just about every other situation in my life. Surprises are just something I like to keep at bay, as if they were crazed wildebeests trying to trample my life down. Everything is set out and regimented. I simply must know every detail about a situation or event prior to it happening. The world would be chaos without structure I tell you. Chaos!