Quite frankly, I think self restraint is over rated. I mean, why not do what you feel like doing? (Applying all the caveats like – as long as it doesn’t hurt/upset anyone else and so on.) So when I see a person in very tight leggings, a T shirt made for someone significantly smaller (and, let’s face it, younger), with underwear and fleshy lumpy bits on full display, why do I disapprove? If she’s happy looking like a cross between a duvet and a bouncing castle, why do I want to stand her in front of a mirror, point out the camel toe and shout “I don’t need to see this!”? But, in spite of the damage it probably does to my blood pressure, I practise restraint and just scream silently.
And in the supermarket, when the people who have no concept of personal space, step backwards into my path and then don’t even respond when I say I’M SORRY, as if it’s my fault, why do I not stare them in the face and express my displeasure forcibly? With a cattle prod, for instance.
I’m an oldish person; a pensioner; a granny. This does not give me the right to greet someone I see EVERY BLOODY WEEK in the same place and proceed to block the aisle, while the four of us – there are always at least four – discuss the weather, our pharmaceutical regime and/or digestive peculiarities, and the price of washing up liquid very loudly because others in the group are hard of hearing and the speaker is hard of thinking AND at the same time, totally ignore their shopping trolleys which are careering off tangentially to damage several other shoppers. So why do other grannies do it?
I hold doors open for people who don’t say thank you. Why do I do this? I know they won’t say thank you, so why do I expect it? Well, hope wistfully, really, not really expect. I do sometimes glare at them and say loudly “You’re welcome” in response to the thanks they haven’t given but that’s going to backfire one day when one of them turns round and biffs me in the chops for being cheeky.
And then there are the orange painted girls whose make up ends in a thick line around their chins that can be seen from space , with eyebrows that look as if they were designed at the Groucho Marx moustache school of maquillage, whose not so subtley false eyelashed eyes are glued to their phones and whose 2 inch long fake nails tap tap a constant stream of badly spelled abbreviations, whilst stepping onto the road in front of moving vehicles. Mine, in fact. I’d run them down and be done with it but I don’t want to get make up on my car.
They are crossing the road to be with similarly engaged young men, wearing T shirts of four letter words or sexually explicit pictures but with designer labels (on the outside!) so that’s alright then; whose trousers fall at the back below the designer underwear, revealing pale, often spotty, bum cleavages and buttocks that have me desperately searching on Amazon for branding irons. And when they get together they barely nod an acknowledgement, instead, continuing the phone chat with the person they would, presumably, rather be with.
And that’s why I have trouble when I go into, or even near to, shops that sell craft supplies. I find myself buying just one more pen, or pack of pens, a block of good quality drawing paper, a die for my Big Shot, some glitter glue and water colour pencils; yarn to add to my already bulging cupboard full and ready to crochet; embroidery thread and canvas; embellishments for card making and books. I mean, you can always see a book you would like the look of, can’t you? It’s their fault really. I’ve used up all my self restraint not killing, or at least maiming, the badly dressed, unthinking, mannerless dolts who all too often cross my path.
But when I sit down to sew, crochet or draw, I can forgive them all, as I settle into Maggiland, with a cup of tea at my side and enough space cleared on my desk for a piece of card and a couple of pens; my precarious equilibrium re- calibrates and the world is a better place. Aaaahhhh!
And then the Diva Challenge comes around and I am swept away on clouds of inspiration. Or not. We’ll see, we’ll see…
Well this week’s Challenge is to big it up, which is a bit tricky because I’m away on hols in Spain and the biggest piece of card I brought is about post card size. So I decided to big up the pattern instead. I stuck a metaphorical pin in Tanglepatterns.com and found Lenche, by Anita Aspors Westin. I haven’t used it before so it was nice to try something new too. It’s one I will use again, so thank you Anita for this one.