The Boob – Do you catergorize people?

boob

Trent and I are not very nice.

We often like to categorize people. It’s not very nice. We can’t help it. Clearly a character flaw in both of us. On introduction if someone tells me it’s been “totes great to meet me”. I cannot be their friend. Or if they say “yahh!” and hair flick a lot, I just know that person is not going to gel with my personality. Instantly. In fact I really don’t like most people. One of my best friends told me that when she first met she knew straight away we were going to be best mates, all I remember was her singing along to Kenny Rodgers The Gambler and wearing a truly atrocious red and grey faded hoody – and having these fantasies (while she was talking to me) about having a great big bonfire and burning it. For me, first impressions really count which is why all of my friends are terrified of introducing me to their new partners. For example if the new partner is all over them in front of me.

Don’t like him.

They will forever refer to him as a “feathery-stroker”.

Or they don’t make an effort to be interesting or interested?

Don’t like him.

That’s a “nothing man” as far as I am concerned.

Or if they order a salad?

Don’t like him.

I simply cannot respect a man who orders a salad.

I am the first to whinge to Trent that he never dances with me if we go out however, I know deep in my heart of hearts that should he actually dance with me it would change the balance of things and I’m not sure I would like it. I am a brilliant dancer, I have some excellent moves which include milking the cow, sprinkler and the usual side to side shuffle with a clap. Sometimes when I am feeling a little risky I pull out my “baby got back” moves. It’s a particularly frightening dance routine that involves some un lady-like butt grinding. Yes I said it. Grinding. Usually to a certain music genre. Often I am whisked away from the dance floor with a purple faced husband lecturing me on the appropriateness of such shenanigans and then he gives me a good spanking over it. Or maybe he has the spanking. I’m not sure, a few wines down and I can’t be certain which end I was on.

There have been some hairy moments, a situation when a certain persons new partners ordered a pumpkin and pine nut risotto for dinner. There was some real tension after that. I couldn’t get comfortable. I mean, here was a man who was drinking a capriosco and eating a risotto in a PUB. Was he going to offer to massage me and light some incense? What next? Candles and Micheal Buble? (we call him ‘the boob’ in our house) I couldn’t bear it. I ordered a steak, a big ass beer, decided to chew with my mouth open & swear a lot in conversation. My mother would have been utterly horrified.

So to my friends, if your new partner wears those slip ons, goes to the gym too much, eats risotto, wears white sunglasses and skinny jeans, is openly over affectionate, likes nickel back, thinks stubbys, thongs and a high vis shirt is appropriate weekend wear, or doesn’t speak during a meal AT ALL. Please don’t introduce him to me. There is only so much steak and beer I can consume.

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