The Blues

Unfortunately, the creator of this blog has been approached by the Bunion Rights Union and requested to ‘cease all demeaning and public mockery of the bunion, or face the consequences of legal censure under the FootINMouth Act of 1850.’

Apparently, the penalties for speaking ill of The Bunion include the following:

•  Permanent (surgically-placed) toe jam that includes a chemical itch for the rest of one’s natural life.

•  Split heel skin that everyone can see, with dirt rubbed into the cracks.

• Exposed, raw quicks of both big toes, forever cutting away at the side of the nail.

• Open, weeping blisters on the small toe for 11 months of the year.

• Life-long ban from pumice stone accessibility.

• And in the severest, continual case of Mockery of The Bunion, a Bunion Bra shall be wrapped around one’s neck until she/he is dead.

So, I’ll stop.

It’s disappointing this has to happen.  Apparently it’s not due to Biggles being spoken about in the same sentence as Bridezilla and The Big Day, it’s the threat to his existence that caused the Bunion Rights Union to step in.  The Bunion Union had a meeting at the Town Hall, discussed all issues and words written in this blog, and made a show of toes to move the motion of ‘all discriminatory and threatening writings about the bunion – in particular, Biggles the Bunion – must stop before another step is taken.’

All in agreeance said ‘Yo, toe’.

According to witnesses, the response was made callously and and without corn.

To be honest, Bridezilla has enough to worry about.  Tonight I write of a problematic situation that has arisen several times for Bridezilla and her Bridezilla Party – her Maidenhairs – as they have searched for dresses, accessories, shoes, chastity belts (more on them later) and flowers.

I speak of the manner of the shop assistant.

Several months ago, we addressed the shop worker who was emotionally over-invested in Bridezilla’s purchase, to the point of kneeling before her, weeping on her feet (she has NO Bunion Union Issues) and imploring Bridezilla to be ‘part of her wedding journey.’

If we took this shop assistant up before the Bunion Rights Union, she would be sent away to the Bunion version of Azkaban – Footruptia – restrained in the tightest bunion bra possible.

But NO MORE about the bunion, thanks.

Tonight, the handbook is trying to address the question: why do some people wot work in shops fink they are better than the average Bridezilla, Maidenhairs, Elderly Aunts or MOBsters?

I wonder if you know what I mean?

You walk into a swanky shop, looking to accessorize your Bridezilla and Groomenstein’s Day dress.  You have your eye on a pendant, a monocle, a walking cane, a top hat or a toe ring (COZ your toes are frigging okay, remember) and you are treated like you have stepped on the toes of someone who has a deformity and just had it lanced!

Why is there an air of superiority?  It’s not like you’re nude.  It’s not as though you’re dirty or mono-eyebrowed or smelling like freshly sliced durian. You’re not bleeding, haven’t got sinews of saliva falling on the floor, soot in your sinuses or womanly entrails on your underwears …

So, what is it?

Recently, I did a small experiment.  I dressed in smart casual (cleaned up my womanly entrails) and entered An Emporium with a plum in moi mouth.  Now, to non-Australians, a ‘plum’ in the mouth means to speak in a ‘posh, well-bred, higher classed’ accent.  It has nothing to do with education standard or academic prowess.  It often means ‘one is putting on airs, darrrrrrhling!’

My actual accent is a mixture of Melbourne tone, good, formal education and an undercurrent of ‘you’ll be right, mate.’  It depends on the circumstance.  This time, I went for ‘ohhh, my god, darling HEART.  I am here from Pran – that’s near Brriiiiiiighton – and your clothes and what-didderly-nots are DIVINE!’

Twas pantomime.  My ‘shopping mentor’ (aka, the shop assistant who is probably no better mannered/educated than me) bonded with me straight away.  After several minutes, when I deviated (sort of purposely) into my ‘you’ll be right, hon’ accent, she quickly asked me ‘was there anything further, ma’am?’

Coincidence?  I don’t know! Did she know I was having her on and not interested in buying?  Maybe.

Regardless of the reason, there is NO cause for a shop assistant/shopping mentor/snooty sales person to speak down their nose at anyone! Unless, of course, they are running amuck in the store (so they wouldn’t have bunions because they couldn’t be running.)

So, Bridezilla, some Saturday handbook advise from Aunt Fangirl regarding the regal handling of the supercilious sales woman/man:

• Use your height.  Belittle, overwhelm, create a shadow, but whatever you do, don’t mention the bunion.

• Stick your nose in the air and roll your eyes whenever you get a chance, usually when you are looking at cheap, badly made items.

• Cluck your tongue against the roof of your mouth in disgust.  About anything – the climate, the government, the price of petrol, the problems with Henley & Cass, your offshore account.

• Discuss your offshore account loudly.

• Flounce about, and always drop the names of designers as though they are your BFF.

• No matter what, remember you are Bridezilla, a veiled monster that could eat them alive … and may well serve them at/as your reception roast.

Random Reads

• November 22, 2010 -- Mondayitis – On Urination
• May 16, 2010 -- Wedding Day News/Views/Blues/Clues/Muse
• August 31, 2010 -- The Day I Met the Angel Gabriel
• September 14, 2009 -- Sew What? (I’m not a frock star)
• November 15, 2010 -- The Britch Returns