Earlier today I was talking to my friend Lana on the phone. I was using my iPhone which is of excellent quality; she was using hers, which is sadly, very inferior. I use the word 'inferior' in reference to the inability of her phone to actually convey the sound of her voice to me, which, in my understanding, is kind of its purpose. Lana tells me this has something to do with the 'poor phone reception' in her residential area, but this 'poor reception' seems bizarrely to follow her phone around wherever she is, so I'm not sure I believe her.
But anyway, that's really not the point.
I love talking to Lana and I don't do it nearly enough (due to annoying interferences such as children, husbands, housework and jobs). So I get extremely frustrated when I am unable to hear her properly in the few precious moments we have. Sometimes I try to bluff my way through and pretend to hear her, hoping I can piece together our conversation later in my head, but when all I can glean is 'And th____ bl____ in the gi____ down my fl_____ w____ plo_____..... well, it's kind of difficult.
But anyway, that's really not the point either.
The point is, speaking to Lana this afternoon got me frustrated. And it also got me thinking about my other greatest frustrations (apart from not being able to consummate my imaginary relationship with Simon Baker, of course). So here goes:
- Not being able to squeeze a pimple. I know that's a bit disgusting, but it absolutely drives me mad. One of my kids had their first ever pimple recently (and happily, their only one) and they would not let me even touch it. Perhaps they might have let me touch it had my husband not poisoned them against me, warning them to 'never, under any condition, let Mummy touch your pimple, no matter how much she begs and pleads'. This, of course, is because HE has never let me squeeze HIS pimples either, which is COMPLETELY unfair and nearly KILLS me. My kids had better stay completely acne free for the rest of their natural lives, or I'm going to spend their entire teenage years in paroxysms of despair.
- Not being able to access my email or Twitter account. This happens regularly, when my computer exercises its right to be temperamental, taunting and teasing me with glimpses of the precious communications that await me, but refusing to let me access them for ridiculous reasons such as 'Network Connection Failed' or 'Certificate You Are Viewing Does Not Match'. And naturally, even when I was not particularly desperate to check my emails, being denied the opportunity to do so will send me into spasms of frustration.
- Noticing a stray eyebrow growing in a place eyebrows shouldn't grow (for example, on the bridge of my nose, or out of my chin) when I am out and about and don't have a pair of tweezers on me. This leads to frantic and fruitless attempts to pluck out the hair with my stubby little, nail-bitten fingers, forsaking whatever other chore or activity I am meant to be doing, until finally I must run desperately into the nearest chemist to buy tweezers and pluck out the offending hair in the car. Then, of course, I will absent-mindedly bring the tweezers home with me, and leave them in the bathroom with my other 276 pairs of tweezers (275 of which were bought in similar emergencies) and go through the exact same ordeal a week or two later when a hair appears on my forehead in the middle of the supermarket. Maddening.
- Seeing a delicious chocolate cake that has been sliced unevenly. Some deep primitive need emerges in me to even up the slice by trimming it with a knife and eating the shavings. If I am prevented from doing so (say by my mother, who believes such 'picking' at the cake is evidence of bad manners) I become immensely frustrated and distressd. Inevitably, of course, I will yield to my cravings, and slice the cake, but my slices are never symmetrical enough, and I am forced to keep eating and eating and eating and EATING until nearly all the cake is gone and I am in agonies of fullness. Clearly, cupcakes are the only possibly solution.
So what are yours? Obviously I have a million others, but I don't have time to write them all down. I have to try to call Lana again. Of course, she probably won't answer her phone at this hour.
Frustrates the hell out of me.