So I’ve come to the conclusion over the past few months that the world has gone entirely mad. People think it’s acceptable to send death threats to other humans for being successful (I’m looking at you all you people who want Justin Bieber to die; he’s a 20 year old boy for fucks sake), Tony Blair, warmongerer of the decade, was named philanthropist of the fucking year in 2014, and I was yesterday refused service for a scratch card at sainos, and we all know the supermarkets are in the shit anyway without refusing their customers.
Now I’m all for taking it as a compliment when people think you look young, but there’s a certain insulting factor to being told that you look that young. The legal age to buy a scratchcard is 16; I was 16 seven years ago. Seven. Can you tell it’s fucked me off? What if that scratchy was a 10 grand winner and Claire as Sainos has ruined my chance to be rich? I know better than to complain.
It’s been an up and down week, with me flitting between looking both older and younger than the consensual lotto playing age. I started the week with a triumphant 20 bar scratch card victory, served up to me by some lovely chap who could tell that I was quite clearly over the age of 16. It was the first time I’d ever won more than a single barry on a scratchy so I was overjoyed until Claire destroyed my winning streak with her IDing ways.
In other weekly news, I (finally) received my 14 day teatox from Bootea that I was on about the other day. On hearing that I’d made the purchase, one of my honeys kindly warned me that “it’ll make you shit yourself”. So yesterday I went to bed in anticipation of waking up at 3am for a mad toilet dash, but there’s so far been no incident. This might even be a little too much info for a blog post but who knows; I’ll keep you all updated on my bowel movements throughout the two week stint.
I’ve still not had any sweets or chocolate 😦