The cheek of it

Two things have happened in the last couple of days that have caused me to put my Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells hat on. Firstly, yesterday I drove a 130-mile round trip to go to a fairly pointless meeting in Surrey and endured several hours of people talking about things that either a) meant nothing to me, b) were of no interest to me, or, more likely, were a combination of both item a and item b, and then even though the meeting was right up until lunchtime, there was NO LUNCH. What??? I'd been there for THREE hours and had to subsist on a cup of tea and a bourbon. That's so ridiculous! I only went to the meeting in the first place to get the free lunch! So I am outraged and appalled.

And then also when I was telling Mum the other night about our dressing up as grease exploits, she casually enquired "are you not too old for dressing up?" The cheek of it! I'm not THAT old! OK I'm not 17 any more, I've had to begrudgingly accept that, but I'm still only in my 20s and it's not like I was dressed in a thong or anything. And personally I think we looked quite hot in our outfits. But now I'm starting to worry that I may not actually realise when I am too old, and I'll be one of those sad old nutters you see out clubbing who thinks they can still dance and that they are still down with the kids.

But I do think I'm down with the kids! Am I already there??

Blogged with the Flock Browser