Today I walked into town, despite still feeling rotten and blah di blah (insert general grump here). I wish that I hadn’t because not only was it excruciating and I’ve ended up having to take my boots off, but also because I got harassed three times on the walk.
Sadly I’m having to retire my beautiful Doc Martens for the moment because the zip has broken and they’ll have to sit around until I can get to a cobblers. Instead of being sensible and grabbing some trainers, I got my lovely but painful army boots that Hairy got me for Christmas a few years ago and still haven’t managed to break in properly. I know, there are ways of loosening up the leather but I just haven’t got around to it because my DMs were pretty much perfect.
Back to my rage – number one was just outside my door. Some twit on a bike was fascinated with my cloak and his teeny tiny pea brain couldn’t fathom why I’d be wearing a cloak. I’m sensitive to this whole thing because I don’t like people talking to me on the street, and I get really annoyed by people’s reactions to the cloak. I know it’s not a “normal” thing to be wearing, but seriously people. Not only did he strike up this “conversation” in the street (following me on a bike – slightly creeped out), he then TOLD ME OFF for being defensive and not wanting to talk to him. You what? So it’s now my place to meekly answer all your questions about my personal choices and preferences, and not to be annoyed that you’re interfering in my life?
Back to the whole cloak thing. I’m sick of being called Maid Marian, Robin Hood, Legolas or anything else you might think of when you see somebody in a cloak. I know the easiest way to stop that is to stop wearing my cloak, but I’m horribly stubborn and that would be letting “them” win.
Rage face. The last guy was just a sleaze bag. By that point I was fed up of everyone and planning on punching the next person in the face.