Monday, 17 October 2011

"You Could Knock Me Down With a Feather!" "Well, Maybe If You Got Laser Fat Removal, I Could."

You know when you buy someone a gift, and then you eat it yourself (assuming it's food, of course), and then they ring you as you are eating it to tell you they are in hospital after slicing through their hand at work, is it a given that the karmic consequences will be seriously severe? (I'm asking for a friend, by the way. I would never do that to someone. Especially not my own sister...). So anyway, Kezia has sliced through the tendons in her hand and I came up top as sibling of the year by taking the morning off work and taking her to the hospital. (I would have done it anyway, but it did ease the Malteser induced guilt I was feeling, which was an added bonus). Whilst we were there, I realised that five years worth of watching medical dramas and sitcoms has somewhat warped my view of what actually occurs in a real hospital. Subconsciously, as we walked through the doors, I think I really did expect to be met by a handsome doctor hand in hand with a glamorous nurse, and then sit and watch in suspense as they both run in slow-motion to save the life of a young, widowed father who is 'coding' (who actually knows what that means?) whilst How to Save a Life by The Fray plays in the background. In reality, however, all I saw were tired looking nurses who looked nothing like Elliot from Scrubs, stressed out doctors and a 14 year old boy who had fallen off his bike. I also (probably unfairly) slightly questioned the competence of the doctors after they drew an enormous black arrow on Kezia's hand pointing to the wound as if the bloody tendon hanging out of it was not indication enough as to where it was... I always get slightly terrified in hospitals in regard to mobile phone/MP3 player rules. Part of me thinks it's a myth they made up for their own convenience, but then another part of me (the dominating, cowardly part) is terrified of taking the risk and accidentally screwing up 'hospital waves', consequently killing someone. This is the part of me that also tells me to move my phone away from my stomach incase the invisible waves are making me infertile or giving me cancer.  The same goes for electrical items on planes - once, on the way to Lanzarote, I realised that I'd left my CD player on throughout take off and spent the next four hours shitting myself thinking we were going to crash in the middle of the Atlantic ocean and all our lives would be over because of a Ricky Martin album. Needless to say, we did not, but that album still gives me cold sweats whenever I listen to it. (Which is never, by the way...)

I heard something at work this week which made me want to crawl into my articulate shell and stay there forever. A customer actually used the phrase, "he ran like a house on fire". Seriously? Have people become so stupid that not only do they struggle to string together a sentence of their own creation, but they somehow manage to butcher the ones that are already made for them? That's the beauty of a cliché: you don't have to think about what you're saying, your point has already been articulated by someone else and all you have to do is reproduce it and sound like you know what it means. Some clichés annoy me, like the ones that do not make logical sense, for example, "You could knock me down with a feather!" Could I really? Because the last time I checked, being shocked does not miraculously cause dramatic weight loss - I'm pretty sure if somebody told me I'd won a million pounds, it would still take someone of significant size and strength to knock me over. I also like, "I'm eating for two now!" Is a fetus really going to eat an entire adult sized portion of curry? If you're not careful, it'll need laser fat removal before it's even born... I actually saw a sign at work the other day for laser fat removal. Who even thought to invent that? Where do these ideas come from? I don't doubt that it will be a fabulous money maker, but I don't think they've fully thought through the consequences of this. What if The War of the Worlds actually happened? A spaceship would land, and, instead of a city running for shelter, there'd just be a herd of fatties (probably led by me) waddling towards the laserbeams, all limbs a-flailing, hoping to come out looking like Kate Moss and instead coming to a sticky, chronically obese end. It's a disaster waiting to happen, you mark my words...

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