tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36939759.post7770270031509879243..comments2024-01-17T07:03:57.842+00:00Comments on The Mad Ranter: Old Age galloping onFlipChttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09449939046593105926noreply@blogger.comBlogger3125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36939759.post-54435957091958464702009-10-12T15:30:29.044+01:002009-10-12T15:30:29.044+01:00As far as I can tell, almost nobody likes my mothe...As far as I can tell, almost nobody likes my mother. I know people who have friends, so maybe it is just that my mother is an inconsiderate twit.<br /><br />I might also suggest it depends on where you live — or even where you shop…Orphihttp://blog.orphi.me.uk/noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36939759.post-31690579472556380272009-10-12T11:25:30.634+01:002009-10-12T11:25:30.634+01:00But is that just her, or is she reflecting the cul...But is that just her, or is she reflecting the culture around her. If the only way to move is to barge then the bargers get through and the polite types like you and I get stuck. In that respect she'd be right and we'd be wrong.<br /><br />Anyway "inconsiderate" that's the word I was looking for; it's the Me Me generation growing up; no I should say getting older. If it doesn't impact directly onto my sphere I don't care.<br /><br />Now hey, I'm like that too; I'm not likely to rant about the road problems you've discussed in MK because they don't affect me; but the difference lies in distance.<br /><br />Okay just deleted a load of comment there heh; back on track.<br /><br />Sounds like I'd be swearing under my breath if I ever met your mother in a shopping situation, sounds like you're swearing under your breath too :-)FlipChttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09449939046593105926noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36939759.post-34124624921201819172009-10-12T10:06:55.876+01:002009-10-12T10:06:55.876+01:00My mother is infuriating when she gets into Tesco....My mother is infuriating when she gets into Tesco. It's like she's the <em>only</em> person in the universe or something. “Oh, I'll just stand here dithering over which packet of baked beans saves me 0.001p per Kg while wandering blindly up and down the isles and stopping in the middle to do taxing mental arithmetic. It's my shop; everybody else should just get the **** out of my way.”<br /><br />Of course, the only reason I have to go with her is so that I can push the trolly. Wouldn't want her to actually extert herself or anything. She's got her gravity-lensing figure to think of. Of course, she can slip through narrow gaps, but I can't. I've got the trolly. And she's certainly not above just physically barging people out of the way if it's not convinient for her to walk around. (It <em>is</em> her universe, after all.) I'm more polite than that. I don't think it's acceptable to barge people around, and I definitely don't think it's acceptable to ram them with a metal trolly loaded with a quarter of a tonne of vegetables.<br /><br />And yet, mum constantly complains of “where <em>are</em> you? Come on, keep up. I'm not carrying this stuff myself.” And yes, she does that thing where she'll be walking along at full tilt, and suddenly some special offer or other will distract her obsessive-compulsive little brain and she stops dead, right there, to compute how many trillionths of one percent she might save.<br /><br />I think this kind of thing is completely inconsiderate.<br /><br />I really hate shopping with my mum, by the way.Orphihttp://blog.orphi.me.uknoreply@blogger.com