Elle Severe Presents

These Are a Few of My LEAST Favorite Things

In Life, Musings, Random, Rants on August 16, 2012 by WhiteBread

Elle Severe’s favorite things post really got me thinking about my own favorite things.  Could I narrow it to five though?  How could I?  Each of the Golden Girls alone would take up 4 of my spots and that’s just the tip of the iceberg.   No, narrowing my favorite things to five was never going to happen.

My least favorite things, on the other hand, were much easier to narrow to five.  So here they are, Whitebread’s top five least favorite things.  Suck it, Julie Andrews*.

5.  People who partake in games and sporting events “just for fun”.  100% of the time, the people using this excuse for participation are the worst people on your team attempting to justify their limited skillset and extremely poor coordination.  They think that being overly optimistic will compensate for their severely inadequate physical ability.  Well guess what people, you’re wrong.  Because can you guess what is fun to me, dude who’s playing “just for fun”?  Winning, that’s what.  Bitch, I play for keeps.

Could you imagine a world where everyone used this same idea to justify their life decisions?  There’d be chaos.  Mass chaos.  Let me paint you a better picture of what I’m talking about.  You just got bit by a snake.  Lucky for you, I like sucking the poison out of wounds “just for fun”.  It’s not because I actually know anything about it or am good at it.  Well guess what, I tried and failed because I couldn’t stop laughing from all of the fun I was having.  And now you’re dead.  You had three children at home, all who are now completely devastated.  Your youngest boy starts wetting the bed at night because he’s emotionally scarred from your death.  A habit that remains with him until is his 42.  Your middle child started eating everything in sight to deal with her depression, including thumb tacks.  She joined the circus as the Tack Eater Extraordinaire.  You hated clowns.   Your oldest daughter, seeking validation from a new man in her life, has now fallen into the wrong crowd because a much older tough guy showed her interest.  She’s now turning tricks in abandoned movie theaters to pay for her newfound crack habit.  Now, DO YOU SEE ALL THE LIVES YOU RUINED BY YOUR ASININE LIFE MANTRA.  Stick to the sidelines, fool.

4.  Mayonnaise.  When referring to mayonnaise, I often describe it as the Trojan of ‘Condom’ents.  I use this term because mayonnaise is the greatest prophylactic available in preventing me from cheating on my diet.  I’m so disgusted by mayonnaise that when it’s used, there is a 98% success rate I will not consume any product covered in it.

Oh and it also looks like semen.

The word alone sounds like a terrible disease.  Oh no, Stacy’s got the Mayonnaise!  With that diagnosis, we all know there is not much hope left for her.  She looks like a leper and reeks of a vinegar, egg yolk and oil concoction.  That smell also gets far worst when she’s been left sitting in the sun.  She can’t stop throwing up and either can the people around her – again, she smells vile.  Mayonnaise is putrid.

3.  Being judged for eating Oreo McFlurry®’s for breakfast Look if Mr. McDonald didn’t want me to have an Oreo McFlurry® at 9am, he wouldn’t have turned on the ice cream machine that early.

Some may consider my consumption of ice cream for breakfast to be wildly immature, but alas, this choice is quite the contrary.  In my digestion of this iced treat during the wee hours of the morning, I’m simply asserting my adultness.  I am making independent choices. I CAN have ice cream for breakfast and no one can stop me.  HAHA!  Take that, Mom.

Looking at it another way, if those Oreos were Cocoa Pebbles and that milk wasn’t as cold, I bet you haters would be singing a completely different tune.  For Christ’s sake, I’m just a small step away from cereal and milk!  And if that was the case, I’d just be eating a high-sugared cereal with whole, fatty milk, but you’d be praising me. You’d be gushing over how great it is that I am considerate of my health in consuming the most important meal of the day.  Shouting, “Hey, look at Whitebread, she’s getting her calcium, folic acid and shit.  Yay folic acid!” Even my mother would have been proud, knowing know her eldest child was finally taken care of her health and her diet.

You know what?  Why get angry?  I’m going to to make my own McFlurry’s® for breakfast.  I’ll call them Whitebread’s Breakfast®.  They’d be a delicious blend of  2% frozen milk and pieces of Cinnamon Toast Crunch® cereal (or Captain Crunch®).  I’ll make a killing.

2.  People who use social media as a platform for complaining.  If I said anymore about this, I’d be no better than any one of them.

1.  Taking public transportation.  Don’t get me wrong, public transportation is often an efficient, cheap, environmentally friendly way of getting from point A to point B.  It works fairly well and overall it’s a pretty decent system.  However, it’s not the system that I have a problem with.  No, it’s the unavoidable, horrendous risk I face every time I get on a train or bus that causes me to hyperventilate.  That risk and my personal hell:  my thigh fat touching someone else’s thigh fat.

Once I get on a train I first do everything I can to avoid this fate.  I sit away from doors.  I only choose two seaters and sit on the aisle.   I try everything from snarling to talking to myself to eating offensively smelling food when people walk by me.  Despite all of my defenses, there inevitably comes a time when sitting next to someone is unavoidable.  And this is when it happens.  Someone gets on the bus.  They look around.  They see me and my vacant seat next to me.  There’s no where else to sit that’s open.  I know what they’re thinking, “Geez that girl eating a plate full of nachos is gross.  Who does that on a bus?  She’ll probably get salsa on my khakis and I just bought these khakis.  I normally wouldn’t have purchased khakis but I’m trying to be taken seriously at work. Everyday is a struggle to not spill coffee on my brand new khakis, it’s awful.  But there’s no where left to sit, so here it goes.”

I look up.  Suddenly everything is in slow motion.  The song “Mad World” comes on.  The stranger gets closer.  I can feel the awkwardness in the air and I can smell his Abercrombie cologne in the air.  He tries too hard.  Finally, he reaches me with mild trepidation and a great deal of courage.  I shimmy in to the window seat acknowledging my loss.  And then it happens.  No matter how thin I am, I cannot avoid the following: my tiny sacks of fat pool over every so gently into the seat next to me and his fat touches mine.  It’s intimate.  Too intimate.  I don’t even know you, dude, and now we’re essentially skin to skin.  My God, khaki-man are those hips or wings?  The next half hour is hell.  I sit there screaming internally, “NOOOOOOO, why must I live like this!  Why is my stop not closer! Immediately upon leaving this bus I’m marching over to Toyota and buying a car.  Never again! Never again!”

*I’m sorry Julie Andrews.  You’re a saint.  I was only trying to make a joke.  I love you.

The dreaded thigh touch.

 

 

 

 

 

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