Ahhh, August 31st. The end of yet another profanity-laden month of bankingcommish and the start of a weekend! Double bonus! And I just moved into a room with an en suite. Triple motherfucking bonus! That’s 2 months down, about 4 to go. Time truly is flying, although I must admit there have been some close calls over the last 31 days, including when, after a few impromptu froffies several weeks back, I had to run home from the tram stop at 11.30pm to hastily punch out 400 words half-cut and soaking wet from a torrential downpour.
Good times, good times.
I was walking past a couple of elderly people sitting together at a coffee table in Rathdowne Street the other day, minding their own business and having a quiet coffee together when I overheard two 20-something hipster girls dressed in almost matching faux (presumably) fur vests directly behind me say (quite loudly), “Oh, look at those two little oldies, still in love with each other, awwww that’s so cute, look at them with their little coffees and their matching outfits. I hope me and Beau (of course her fucking boyfriends’ name was Beau) are like that in 50 years…”
They made the comment so loudly that the couple sitting down clearly heard it, so much so that they actually looked up and stared at the girls as they walked past, probably on their way to a fair-trade coffee shop or something equally as ‘scene’ (one of the worst adjectives kicking around, I fucking hate it). You could see the body language of the couple change as they comprehended what the girls had said. It was as if they were balloons at a county fair that had just been unexpectedly popped.
I felt like dousing the two girls in buckets of warm cows’ blood while shouting, “Fur is murder! Fur is murder!” in a really high-pitched camp voice and dragging them by their off-kilter ponytails down Rathdowne Street and into oncoming traffic like a belligerent caveman. What absolute cunts. The level of condescension and patronisation in their voices was unfathomable, as if the targets of their comment were a couple of 10 week-old puppy dogs instead of human beings.
I’m going to be the most miserable retiree; I’ll already be super pissed off about my failing body and having to subject myself to the odd finger up the arse for prostate exams. Having some poorly made-up (sit in front of the mirror if you want to add blush, you look like Noddy) young hipster twat ruin my day is liable to make me want to slap a bitch…
Just because someone is older and perhaps a little slower of body it doesn’t mean they aren’t an intelligent, articulate human being and in any way less deserving of at least a base level of respect, even from the most vacuous of souls. It’s not as if they aren’t resilient motherfuckers either; they’ve lived through wars, market crashes, recessions and hyper-inflation, among other perils.
We’ve lived through Dinosaurs…