Thursday, April 25, 2013
Regular readers will already know this, but habitual lurkers (you know who you are; my counter's been collecting stats about you) or newbies looking for 'my left boob' (still the most-searched for item on this site) may not yet know that my sense of humour really is rather juvenile.
Whilst my French is limited to hello, goodbye, thank you and an ever-increasing range of charades that I'm prepared to act out in front of perplexed strangers, it is still the word 'douche' that never fails to amuse.
It was 'Jovial Douche' shower gel last year that saw me giving it to all of our house guests and, of late, it's been the Bonnet de Douches that's been snaffled from every hotel we've stayed in.
Shower caps, yes; but Douche Bonnets....?! How can I not snigger at that and then, pondering my recent whinge about feeling grumpy and stumped, not take up PlasMan's idea to "Tell me - and the world - what YOU think is rubbish - and why."
Sapphire regularly accuses me of being overly judgmental of teenagers and of laughing too loudly at drunk uncles falling over in 'You've Been Framed' wedding clips, so it seems right to have myself feature as the first Douche Bonnet in the hopes that on a semi-regular basis my knickers will get twisted up enough to write about other people/trends/issues/behaviours that also require a public session under the scornful shower cap.
As such, I'm telling the world that I'm rubbish (or slightly, as even my bruised ego is aware that some good points are to be found) at being ........ not jealous.
This is a tough one to admit to, but jealousy is only ever evident to me after I've had a rant, been a bit bitchy, made a snarky comment (usually to Love Chunks or Sapphire) and then, seeing their slightly disapproving reaction(s), realise that it's all down to being more than just a tad envious.
Blogging is the issue that highlights my worthiness to be the first to don the Douche Bonnet. A bugbear of mine concerns comments. I'll admit that my knowledge of blog etiquette is minimal, but if someone is generous enough to take the time to read and then add a comment to my blog, I'll click on their link to see if they also have a blog and comment on one of their recent articles as an acknowledgement. Then, if their blog is one that appeals to me, I'll add them to my regular reading list and keep on visiting and commenting. After all, what blogger/writer, doesn't enjoy feedback? Comments are, in my minuscule, jealous mind, the way of spreading the love back and forth and is the reason why I feel mightily pissed off when my comments are either never returned or even responded to, especially if the blogger is directly answering other commenters. My inner Douche Bonnet begins to inflate with annoyance. Bloggers want comments, so surely they should do the same for others...?
So, when a blogger (and friend) recently announced via another form of media that they've revamped their long-forgotten blog and now want everyone to 'like' them and recommend their site to all their friends so that they can attach some advertising and make some money, my Douche Bonnet fogged up even further with an unattractive combination of 'who the hell do they think they are' and 'what do you think I've been trying to do for seven years' with a side order of 'so you think you can achieve what three billion of us already out there can't?'
The bonnet blew up bigger still when my elephant memory reminded me that the revamped blogger hadn't left a comment on mine in years....!
"You read far too much into things," says Love Chunks, not looking up from his iPad.
"It's hardly a life or death situation, is it, Mum," snorts Sapphire, packing her school things.
They're both right. I deserve to be publicly exposed as the inaugural designated Douche Bonnet and learn to get over it and not blame my irrational envy on being in week three of a six week self-imposed no-sugar detox un-fun abstinence experience. Either that or find out the hard way how difficult it is to remove both my head - and the now-desecrated Douche Bonnet - from out of my arse.