Woe-man Flu: a definition for the dumbassed.

I HATE  being sick - yes I know,  that's not news, EVERYONE hates being sick. Everyone, except maybe neglected Asian women of a certain age who use hypercondria as a currency to get attention and think they have every ailment going, like the SARS virus and Bovine Spongiform Encephalopathy! Hey, it breaks up their morning - half cook the handi, do the washing, gossip with the relatives in Birmingham and have a little light flirtation with the doctor, while he convinces you, you don't have BSE! It's a system. It works for them. Don't judge.  

Point is, unlike the Aunties, I hate being sick and even more than that I hate going to the doctor!!! Really. Unless something is bleeding and it won't stop or is in imminent danger of falling off, I won't go to the doctor. And the only doctor I will see when something is about to fall off is the big man himself! No, not God, if I was seeing Him it would be a bit too late for any kind of treatment! No, the guy whose name is on the plaque at the entrance of the surgery, who has been my GP for 25 years and still gives me a lollipop whenever I visit. He may be on the shady side of, like, 80 and may only work 2 hours every six months, but he's the only doctor I can stand; he's jargon and bullshit free, he doesn't make feel either patronised nor uncomfortable being in the same room as his giant ego, and best of all he's not empathyless or dumbassed! Like EVERY other GP I've ever met. 

I kid you not. Last time I went to the doctor they made me see some WOMAN - who decided I had high blood pressure. I don't have high blood pressure. 

Woman GP: Oh yes, the machine is showing high blood pressure, just as I suspected.

Me:You took it wrong. I don't have high blood pressure. Do it again. 

Woman GP: (Nonplussed) Ok. 

She takes it again -Pause. She takes it for a third time. Longer pause. 

Woman GP: Oh. Yes, no it was incorrect, you don't have high blood pressure. 

Me: I know. 

Twat. The time before that I got to see doctor misery guts, he looked so miserable the whole time he was talking to me that I was tempted to ask him who had died! Misery guts also turned out to be a sadist - dude, put a steroid injection in my foot WITHOUT telling me that a) it would hurt like a bastard as he was doing it - hurt to the point of screaming and b) it would incapacitate me for three whole, entire days!!! Bigger twat! 

Yeah, I don't trust GP's (or male gynaecologists - ewwww what's up with that??!!) and on top of that , to add to my illness woes, I CANNOT SUFFER IN SILENCE!! I pretty much can't do ANYTHING in silence, leave alone suffer! Except read, I read in silence but then while I'm reading my brain is being loud so it cancels the silence out, internally at least!! 

Suffering in silence is just sooo 17th Century! No stoic leave me be-ness for me, I'm afraid, when ill I'm one of those peeps who need to be asked how they are at regular intervals, and if you don't ask you're in big trouble!! I want someone to smooth my fevered brow and feed me chicken soup. I'm one of those annoying sick people who actually want other people to visit them, lots of other people preferably bearing flowers, gifts,  and kittens.

My third problem apart the from doctor-hate & loud suffering is that I have a VERY low threshold for pain, like low LOW!! Super low. I cannot take pain, really. There is no concept of gritting my teeth and bearing it, I can't bear it, at all. I scream like a girl - mostly cause I am a girl - even at a paper cut! Contrary to outward appearances, I'm really quite delicate - I bruise really easily and it fricking hurts!! Think my mother and sister got all the bearing pain genes in the family. They could chop a finger off go oohpsy daisy and carry on chopping the onions. HARD as NAILS. Not me, can't be dealing with no pain, unless it's waxing or threading - pain for beauty purposes doesn't count - that's pain with a purpose. 

Thus, if I am sick I moan about it and feel very sorry for myself. Especially if there aren't any flowers or gifts or kittens forthcoming which, lets face it, unless one was gonna loose a vital  organ, isn't gonna happen, not for something as unromantic as the flu! When I am ill, I don't wanna go to the fricking doctor and I certainly don't want to be left alone. I wanna be treated like Marianne from Austen's "Sense & Sensibility" - someone - preferably the sister, though I would make do with the mother,  keeping a constant vigil at my bedside telling me how much I am loved, and preferably, a handsome slightly world weary Captain waiting outside the door praying for my recovery.  Anything else is just underwhelming. 

It's  all very sad, being sick sucks. Consequently, I've decided to name my special brand of gift free sickness Woe-man Flu, the female equivalent of Man Flu! And it's just as real.

A Plague of Frogs or Where the Bloody Hell is Prince Charming?

I've been a good girl all my life - patiently waiting for Prince Charming to show up and claim me as his. I've believed in the fairytale - that one day I will meet my Prince Charming; he'll love me and I will love him - more importantly, his parents will think I'm fricking awesome - we'll get married in a lavish ceremony lasting at least 3 days, with 3 different colour schemes and live happily ever after, producing a trio of gorgeous girls named, Fifi, Gogo & Lulu!!

The wait appears to be a long one. I don't really get it. Aren't nice things supposed to happen to nice people? I'm a nice person; moral, helpful, I always do the right thing even if it’s detrimental to my own interests. I try my best not to hurt anyone, to treat people well. Sounds all pompous but it’s true - really... And it's not as if people don't love me, they do!! I feel the love. I'm not hideous either, I have no pretensions of thinking that I look like a young (or even old,) Sophia Loren but I'm not ugly. Fat yes, ugly no. And yes, you size zero loving secret necrophiliacs, there is a difference: I may be fat but I'm fat with style!! I dress for the size I am and not the size I wish I were!! I'm a little over educated but really that's hardly a crime.. I’m not self-obsessed (contarary to how this is all sounding!) , I’m intuitive, especially about people – I’m honest to goodness, actually nice... So really, WHERE THE HELL IS PRINCE CHARMING?!! I mean seriously, dude, at this rate I'm totally dying a virgin!!

It's also not as if I'm unrealistically fussy; the height, weight, complexion of Prince Charming is totally negotiable. I'm not looking for a 6 foot 4, golden skinned, Adonis - one would be nice, but I'm not too fussed! The one proviso - apart from the fact that I have to be attracted to him, and really I'm attracted to the weirdest things - is that he has to be intelligent. Oh yeah and Asian - preferably Pakistani!! 

That, gentle reader, is the Achilles' heel of the fairytale. There just aren't any Paki Prince Charmings around - either white or Sikh girls at university stole the few that exist or their parents arranged their marriages at 22 to a hook nosed cousin in some backwater village in the Punjab!! So now, ten years and two sons later, they're mostly divorced, bitter, atheist and very unprince like!

My family is no help. They couldn't even arrange a vase of flowers leave alone my marriage - I mean seriously, if they were proper Pakistanis I'd've had my marriage arranged eons ago, popped out at least Fifi and Gogo by now, and all this angst would be behind me. But they're all just too fricking liberal - love marriages are the way to go - we don't mind as long as you're happy - Woop Woop!! Bunch of fake Asians!! What good are they to me? All my mother does is look at me lamentfully - I can all but see the reflection of my biological clock ticking away in her teary eyes.  When really she should be getting onto the Aunty network or seeing a marriage broker. People with uglier, stupider, even fatter children are just so much more efficient, learn and emulate WOMAN! Damn her liberal eyes. 

The bad girls had it right really, they're all married to their boyfriends and pretty much happy little harpies now! They secretly dated, drank, slept with a legion, their mother in laws hate them but they don't care, they call her an old bat, bitch to her son about her interfering ways and how victimised they feel by her and the sad sap believes them!! Now, my mother-in-law would fricking love me  - so I repeat, where the hell is Prince Charming?! Does he not care about his mother at all? I repeat my mother in law will LOVE ME. Really.

I mean men – what do they want? They say one thing, do another, and think something entirely different – I have met nary a one I can stand to be around for longer than two hours without wanting to slap him round the ear!! That includes my brother – actually especially my brother. The Y chromosome is definitely defective – there’s something wrong with the male of the species. With us Pakistanis, I blame all the interbreeding – all this cousins marrying cousins equals defective Y-chromosomes.  

Oh dear, perhaps the appearance of Prince Charming will only complicate my life – I mean for one thing I may have to share my Playstation3! Oh the horror.