Much has changed since I was young. For one, I was a stone lighter and could mostly be found with a snakebite in one hand and fag in the other. Why, before the nanny state took hold of the very core of our beings it would not be unusual to find myself and 3 friends happily chuffing away in a small restaurant directly next to a romantic couple mid main course. If your clothes didn’t have to be chemically dry cleaned after a night on the tiles and your ceiling wasn’t the colour of an anaemic alcoholic you were considered a health freak.
Sadly, an irritant called Cancer became more widely recognized as the years passed and now it seems far more widely acceptable to shoot up heroin than it does to have a quick puff between courses. I can’t help but warm to folk who refuse to kick the habit, foolish though it may be and far more regretful for one’s life span, there is something rather appealing about shamelessly walking into the corner shop to part with 35 pounds for 10 Benson & Hedges, (I forget the exact amount but I understand it is in the region.)
In light of endless health warnings I did find it deep within my resentful soul to kick the habit. I was told, once having given up the smokes, that I would have enough money for a bi-annual holiday in Barbados or thereabouts with the money I will save. Sadly this has never been the case, for I seem to have replaced one money wasting, socially frowned upon habit for another. What I would have spent on fags I now spend on weekly magazines, meaning that, instead of destroying my lungs, I am now doing a fairly royal job of destroying my brain.
Women’s magazines are a strange thing. Despite loathing 95 percent of their content I still feel drawn to buy them, as I have got older I have felt socially obliged to upgrade my literature from your basic weekly trash, Heat, Closer etc to the more high brow variety. I am told Grazia is almost acceptable, and on occasion, though, tempting to shoot myself in the head with one more Kate Middleton arse licking doesn’t she look great in LK Bennett shoes feature, have found myself, at times, enjoying the publication. The articles are varied and reasonably interesting and the subjects, appealing to a London living 30-something like myself.
When flicking through the magazine today I was stunned, nay, appalled, to read a weekly column … hear that, people, a weekly column, by a man, on the subject of moving on from being dumped by his fiancee.
The article this week was entitled ‘How could she de-friend me on Facebook?’.
Oh dear God, tell me it isn’t true.
To add to the utter insanity of the situation there is a picture of the man in question. The dumped, the rejected, the loser. The … (and I quote) ‘male Bridget Jones’. Sigh.
You may well wonder why I find the article so offensive, isn’t it every man’s right to have feelings and emotions just like us girls? No. it is not.
Here’s the thing, by all means be heart broken, weep into your pint with a close friend at the local pub (actually, don’t do that) weep into your pillow on your own, shag around, get pissed for a month. Do not, I repeat, do not, write a weekly column in a national women’s magazine about what a loser you are.
And to make things worse he isn’t even delighting us with what fun he is having now that he can shag who he wants, he’s telling us about how many hours a night he spends stalking ‘Jenny’ on Facebook.
Poor, poor Jenny.
Now I like a good stalk up as much as the next girl, why, if it wasn’t for the fact that the app texts the person to ask their permission, I think its fair to say, I’d quite happily have a tracking devise on every ex-boyfriend I’d ever had, but, and here’s the science bit, keep it to yourself!
Writing a weekly article about being an absolute tit, will not only make Jenny totally relieved she ended the relationship and need counselling to deal with the thought that she ever had a relationship with you in the first place, but also ensure that all future partners know you’re are a whimpering tosser, and most likely, secretly homosexual.
Writing about your ex-girlfriend for the entire female population of the country is not flattering, it’s frigging mental, and should be rewarded with a stint in The Priory and a straight jacket not a weekly column! And don’t even get me started on how he discovered the magazine in the first place, for fuck’s sake man, what next? a spinning class? Bikram Yoga? a knitting group!?
You want revenge? Get a job as editor-in-chief at Loaded.
Nothing says ‘moved on’ like pictures of you out with 6 glamour models in a private room at Mahiki.
That’s what Facebook’s for.
And for myself? well I fear, in a bid to save my lungs, I may well have an addiction that will eventually put me off men for life, (and Kate Middleton) and what’s the point of being alive when your fears of the male race are confirmed on a weekly basis for £1.95. There is no amount of free sample size moisturizer that can compensate for this horror.
Girls going bonkers after a break-up? We don’t even touch the sides. Now who’s coming out for a smoke …