I hate people

No really, I do.
 
Why this sudden misanthropy?  Ecce romana, dear world of shed enthusiasts, as I recount, in butt-clenching agony the key incidences which have been instrumental in my hate of man kind in the last week.  By the end of it I am sure you will be all nodding your heads in agreement over your crapuccinos (like cappucciono, but with crystalised poo on top).
 
The first unhappy incidence finds your hero, dr. Angel (world famous internet doctor and international wild child) at her gym, about to embark on her legs, bums and gunts class (the workout for the lady who likes her ale) when one of the simple minded gym attendants collars her for a chat (I use ‘chaT’ in the ‘conversationally insult someone’ sense of the word).  Attendant is ‘up the duff’.   I have also mistakenlt told simple attendant that I have just turned 30.  Yes.
 
Dr. A:  So how are you feeling?
 
attendant:  I feel fine, just a lot of pressure on my stomach.
 
[i]some small talk follows[/i]
 
attendant:  have you not thought about having kids?
 
D: not yet, maybe when I’m about 36.
 
A:  that’s a bit late.  You’re running out of time.  I’m not being funny  or anything (note WOS readers this phrase means someone IS being Funny and is just a conversational permission to be insulting) but you’re running out of time.  Imagine getting to 36 then finding out you can’t get pregnant.  That would be awful.  Fertility starts to drop off after 28. 
 
D:  Er…
 
A: A simple blood test can tell you how long you’ve got.
 
D: Er, well I suppose…
 
A: [i] smug self satisfied look whilst rubbing pregnant stomach[/i]How old will your partner be then?
 
D: Er, 41.
 
A: That’s too old to be running after kids.
 
D: er, well, (mumbles and tries to be polite whilst feeling like a failure as a woman)
 
This conversation enrages me for many different reasons:
 
1.  When did it become ok in polite conversation to speculate about another woman’s fertility?
2.  Why after the age of 28. does anyone only value you on your ability to knock some snotty nosed kids out of your fanjita?
3.  Why is one seen as a failure if you decide to wait until you are a bit older?
4.  Why do some people think it’s perfectly OK to make another human being doubt decisions that t hey’ve made for their own life and criticise it.  I’m no saint by any stretch, shedders, but in common parlance with others I do nothing but support and bolster decisions others have made and go to great pains not to make people feel bad about themselves. 
5.  Ergo, I hate people.
6.  I hate the way I’m so fucking polite despite people being so fucking out of order that I don’t say anything back.  I could have slayed her with my superior reasoning skills, and post modern stance on life, but NO.  I’ll agree with the CUNT.
 
 
Y’know world of shedders, I’m not a remarkable person that you just haver to pass comment on.  I’m normal, so one wonders why people feel need to pass judgement on one’s personal preferences and attributes. 
 
My mood is too foul to continue.
 
Your servant
 
Dr. Angel

Angel’s ryhming slang

It’s important to have language isn’t it world of shedders?  Without language we’d all be sniffing each others backsides to sort out who goes first at the butcher’s counter.  What’s even better than having language to communicate one’s needs and desires (just think world of shedders, how would you book your spray tans?  How would you tell the woman in mothercare what pram you wanted?) is having a CODE to exclude people from guessing the true meaning of your communication betwixt you and your chums, thereby causing a sense of alienation and ostricising them.  What could be more fun than that?  Rhyming slang is one way of doing this.  Observe here, before your very eye devices your own WoS rhyming slang.  This way you can achieve that sense of superiority with no extra cost AND be able to identify other shedders as they come into your gritty, sopororofic realm of consciousness.  Just remember, dear, beatific shedders, only use the FIRST world in the rhyming slang couplet.  A case example will, of course, follow.
 
jimmy choo=sneaky poo
 
sunken bismark=primark
 
Archer’s goon= weatherspoons
 
Ayrton Senna=tenner
 
Lady Godiva-fiver
 
 Sir Lancelot=sennakot
 
Jodie Marsh=harsh
 
Cheap pegs=world of sheds (yay!)
 
Bubbly Babs (windsor that is) =sitting on your front door step smoking fags.
 
posh n’ becks=oral sex
 
Ok, lets put it together in a commonly used phrase than I’m sure fits your exact frame of reference
 
person 1:  where did you go this weekend?
 
Person 2:  I got some stella in and had a bubbly.
 
Person 3:  I went to the Archer’s and got a posh in the bogs.  I only went in for a jimmy!
 
Person 1:  was she fit like, or did she look like your fat mam?
 
Person 3: that’s a bit jodie mate.  Outside now for a rubbish fight.
 
Person 4:  I don’t know what those splendid people are talking about.  I feel lost, lonely and slightly bullied.
 
Persons 1-3: Hurrah!  Our work here is done and our fragile sense of self is now buffered!
 
It’s EASY!