There are days when I am sick of myself. Today, I am sick of myself. I wasn’t; I was having a perfectly lovely day. I’d caught up with a dear friend in the morning, then scored a couple of hours off to go birthday shopping for my mum and Frankie. I was even going to sneak in a cheeky coast run before I went to pick the kids up from my parents’. So far, so good, yeah? And then – then – a woman queue-jumped in front of me at the check-out in David Jones.
I know, first-world problems, right? But I was CLEARLY first, and she was CLEARLY next, but the sales lady got it wrong, and served her instead. I looked at the queue-jumping lady, who refused to make eye contact, but had this, like, half-smile on her smug-bitch head. And I did this (tiny, squeaky voice): “Um, hello?” Like a fucking mouse. A squeaky fucking timid-arse mouse. And obviously the sales lady didn’t hear – nor care – and if the queue-jumping lady did hear then she pretended not to. And – get this – she wasn’t even buying anything. She was doing a fucking RETURN. A complicated RETURN. And I stood there, holding the simple item that I wished to simply buy – with CASH – and got angrier and angrier and angrier. I started off being angry at the smug-bitch queue-jumper. Man, I was angry at that bitch. I stared at that queue-jumping bitch, and tried to find flaws in her smug-bitch head (she was fucking flawless), and then I looked for flaws in her smug children (also flawless), and then I stopped being angry at her, and started being angry at me. I had time to do this; the return was not a straightforward one. There was plenty of time to fume. By the time it was finally my turn to transact, I felt like crying. I still kind of do.
My friends, I get that I’m over-reacting. A lady queue-jumped. She didn’t kick my daughter up the arse and steal my husband. There is absolutely no reason to cry. But I’M JUST SO CROSS AT MYSELF. I’m sick of being so fucking piss-weak. I’m sick of losing my spot in the queue.
It comes down to jealousy, of course. Jealousy is not an attractive trait to have, but some days I’m consumed by it. I’m not angry at the queue-jumping lady; I’m jealous of her. I’m jealous of her forthright nature and fuck-you attitude. This bitch gets things done! She needed to return an item, and goddamnit, she returned that damn item! In record time! She probably has a book deal and a money-making blog and well-dressed children who don’t call people “motherfuckers” in Myer. Oh, queue-jumping lady, I envy you.
I’m pretty piss-weak, did you know? Oh yeah, I come across all feisty and forthright and fuck youuuuu but it’s all bullshit. I get walked over and trod on and pushed out of line, quite literally. I do things that I don’t want to do, go places I don’t want to go, and tolerate friends who I don’t want to be friends with, for the simple reason that I can’t find my fuck you. I have a head full of plans and ambition and ideas, but a distinct inability to put them into action. I could take over the world, if it was presented to me on a silver platter and I didn’t have to talk to anyone on the telephone.
THE PROBLEM IS, I belong to all these kick-arse, take-over-the-world Facebook groups. Like-Minded Bitches Who Drink Wine, Girl Bosses, Mums with Hustle, Have Tits Will Take Over. (One of those groups does not actually exist, although I wish it did.) These groups are full of FUCK-YOU women taking over the world. They’re nice ladies, don’t get me wrong, but man, do they get things done. And man, do they make me feel bad for not getting things done.
You should pity my poor husband. Every day, when he’s trying to watch Banged Up Abroad, I whine at him that I should have a book deal/job/money/accolades by now. And he’s, like, “Well what have you done to get a book deal/job/money/accolades? And I’m, like, “That’s not the point, PAUL, JESUS.” And then he remembers that he’s in possession of the exact same personality, and we go back to getting all cross that no one has asked us to be on Gogglebox yet. My friends take a slightly more persuasive approach: “You need to put yourself out there. Push others out of the way and be proactive. Identify what you want and go and get it! Grrrrrrrrrr.” And I sigh, and say yeah, but the truth is, I have no grrrrrrrrrrr.
Obviously this is getting to me. OBVIOUSLY – or I wouldn’t be nearly crying because a lady got served before I did. I’m well aware that I need to step up and find my grrrrrrrrrrr. My question is: DOES ANYONE KNOW WHERE I CAN FIND MY GRRRRR? ‘Cos I’d really take over the world, if you don’t mind, and if I’m not in the way, y’know, thank you.