The girls from work, you know... Shazza, Kaz, Leelee, Kyles and I, often go for coffee on Friday afternoon.
We go to a random café, a different one each time and the girls all order creamy, caramel, chocolate, lemon cheesecake, sticky icky confectioneries whilst I sip on a pathetic muggachino with far less sugar than I’d prefer and salivate like a dog as I watch them licking their spoons with relish.
Sigh.
Anyway, last Friday, somehow the subject of the book I’m currently writing came up. (It may have been me who brought it up I can’t recall.)
“I’ve written twenty-one chapters already!” I squealed.
They swapped surreptitious glances as if to say, “Who got on to this fudging topic? Shut her up someone!”
Anyway, I proceeded to tell them the entire plot, leaving out the special, mysterious bits of course.
“It’s about a kindergarten teacher,” I pontificated grandly. “She doesn’t eat much, like… she just eats boiled eggs and a dry Ryvita every now and then and she drives a yellow Volkswagen. She also has a mini Fox Terrier called Mildred who she adores and who goes everywhere with her.”
Shazza yawned, “So… it’s a thinly veiled novel all about you, Pinky.”
“No!” I almost shouted. The guy behind the counter looked over, alerted to a possible café skirmish, his finger poised on the 000 speed dial.
“It’s not about me! It’s about a girl called Mabel! She’s only twenty-nine and she’s blonde! I’m a brunette!”
“But you still think you’re twenty-nine, Pinky,” quipped Kyles, sucking excess caramel from the end of her spoon. “It’s about you isn’t it?”
It was basically an ‘eyes glazed over moment” from then on.
Sigh.
Anyway, last Friday, somehow the subject of the book I’m currently writing came up. (It may have been me who brought it up I can’t recall.)
“I’ve written twenty-one chapters already!” I squealed.
They swapped surreptitious glances as if to say, “Who got on to this fudging topic? Shut her up someone!”
Anyway, I proceeded to tell them the entire plot, leaving out the special, mysterious bits of course.
“It’s about a kindergarten teacher,” I pontificated grandly. “She doesn’t eat much, like… she just eats boiled eggs and a dry Ryvita every now and then and she drives a yellow Volkswagen. She also has a mini Fox Terrier called Mildred who she adores and who goes everywhere with her.”
Shazza yawned, “So… it’s a thinly veiled novel all about you, Pinky.”
“No!” I almost shouted. The guy behind the counter looked over, alerted to a possible café skirmish, his finger poised on the 000 speed dial.
“It’s not about me! It’s about a girl called Mabel! She’s only twenty-nine and she’s blonde! I’m a brunette!”
“But you still think you’re twenty-nine, Pinky,” quipped Kyles, sucking excess caramel from the end of her spoon. “It’s about you isn’t it?”
It was basically an ‘eyes glazed over moment” from then on.
They haven’t even starting reading it. They don’t care. Even Scotto feels forced to read it if he expects his Sunday morning “breakfast in bed”.
It’s the same as when Scotto starts telling me about why the updates on my computer are important and I shouldn’t keep postponing them for four hours every time they show up; my eyes glaze over to the point where I totter forward dribbling in boredom and he has to prop me up with a pillow whilst still lecturing me on the perils of Microsoft bullshite.
And like, when I’m sitting in a staff meeting and someone starts arguing about who should man the senior boys' toilets after the second lunch bell; my eyes glaze over. It’s been discussed about forty million fudging times and frankly… I’m sick of it. No sane person wants to venture anywhere near the senior boys' toilets so let’s just leave it at that.
Leave them to it I say… let them go all Lord of the Flies. And there are a lot of flies I’m here to tell you.
It’s the same as when Scotto starts telling me about why the updates on my computer are important and I shouldn’t keep postponing them for four hours every time they show up; my eyes glaze over to the point where I totter forward dribbling in boredom and he has to prop me up with a pillow whilst still lecturing me on the perils of Microsoft bullshite.
And like, when I’m sitting in a staff meeting and someone starts arguing about who should man the senior boys' toilets after the second lunch bell; my eyes glaze over. It’s been discussed about forty million fudging times and frankly… I’m sick of it. No sane person wants to venture anywhere near the senior boys' toilets so let’s just leave it at that.
Leave them to it I say… let them go all Lord of the Flies. And there are a lot of flies I’m here to tell you.
Or when someone I know (no names) starts telling me about how they went to boot camp that morning and had to push a fudging tyre up a cliff then dive into the rocky surf and swim five miles chasing the tyre until a shark ate them and they died. Yawn. (The story went something like that I’m not sure because I fell asleep.)
Basically I don’t want to listen to other people’s shite and they don’t want to listen to mine.
Which is why I write a blog.
No one can interrupt me and I can’t see you rolling your eyes and picking at your fingernails in boredom.
Basically I don’t want to listen to other people’s shite and they don’t want to listen to mine.
Which is why I write a blog.
No one can interrupt me and I can’t see you rolling your eyes and picking at your fingernails in boredom.
Which conversations leave you with your eyes glazed over?
