Readers. We are nothing if not diverse. This week we’ve covered topics as wide ranging as alcoholism in your family to how to be the best possible best-man, we’ve had way too many pictures of a smushy baby with food all over her face and Anna’s beautiful letter to Mr K on their third wedding anniversary, and now today we’re going all light-hearted on you and letting the (lovely and ever so sane) Sarah M tell us all about the little things in life that just make her want to scream…
Life’s far too short to sweat the small stuff but every now and again things start to bug me. I’m not talking about the earth shattering, life changing woes of the world but the small, insignificant stuff. The things that you really ought not moan about but if you don’t let out every so often can bubble up into a bit of a rant. Sometimes even into a tirade of complaint that takes your poor, unsuspecting husband by surprise. Every few months of so I have one of these rants and normally my poor chap bears the brunt of it, sat there laughing at my perceived injustice at a completely ridiculous set of issues. Well guess what, folks? I thought I’d share them with you this time.
First up for me: scented toilet roll. Why? Just why? It’s a sickly, tangy smell that gets right up my nose the moment I enter a bathroom where it’s used. Surely no one in their right mind wants their bathroom to smell of synthetic lavender and vanilla combination? In fact, sod your bathroom, why would you want your bum to smell like cheap air freshener? The perfumed gubbins they add can’t be working wonders for your nethers, ladies – keep it clean, keep it natural, keep it old-lady-lavender free (happy to sell that tag line to you, Proctor & Gamble, just contact me about my fee…).
Heck, whilst I’m at it, why stop at scented? Coloured loo roll, I’m looking at you! Peach has a home here on AOW, it should not be lurking in your bathroom. The same goes for pale pink or even aqua. Your destiny is as soft hued nail varnish, palate cleansing sorbets or even slinky lingerie – you should not be staring back at me from the toilet roll holder. Here you are wasted and a source of annoyance. So there.
Second, but on a similar vein, scented sticks. You know the sort. They sit, all innocent looking, in a glass jar of essential oil, like butter wouldn’t melt. All of a sudden there they are, waving their stick hands in the air and acting as a conduit for the vile smelling ‘Spring time love’ or ‘Christmas chez moi’ or whatever tosh the fragrance is called. You might think they’re an inanimate object but you’re wrong. They’re clever buggers. Walk past them and the breeze gives them heart, their smell increases and they start to engulf you. An overreaction you say? Perhaps so when they’re acting alone as the fragrance isn’t all consuming but it’s when they breed, becoming an army of stinky sticks taking over your house that you need to worry. Their long armed tentacles of stench will reach out when you’re asleep, crawling their way up your nose and attaching their spiky tendrils into the backs of your eyes ensuring the most pounding of headaches when you awake. Yes, my dad’s fiancee, I’m looking at you and your sticks in every room.
Third, it’s got to be the common-or-garden coaster. Yep, the things you place on your table to stop your drinks from marking the surface. Really. I’ll tell you why. Innocuous? No. Gallant Protector of the Table Top? Not on your nelly! Coasters are evil. They suggest they’re Dobby-the-house-elf-super-helpful with their carefully-chosen-to-coordinate-with-your-lounge appearance but what they really are is an accident waiting to happen. Oh yes. Coasters are dangerous and they make me nervous. They may only be a few millimetres tall but it’s a veritable cliff face enough on which to catch the bottom of your scalding tea or your just topped up glass of wine. It sits there, lulling you into a false sense of security with it’s ‘Ooooh, rest your weary (drink) bottom on me, just for a while, you know you want to’ look and then the moment you do, the glass catches and the content spilt, doooooooooom. I swear I’ve lost more drinks (and received more frowns from the owner of the table or carpet) due to coasters and coaster-induced-nerves than I have to intoxication of the vino variety. Beware the coaster, I say.
Am I alone in this bubble of irritation? I have plenty more I can share, if the AOW ladies will have me back (and promise to ensure a fragrant free bathroom experience at AOW Mansions) but I can’t wait to hear what gets your goat.