I don’t get it

After sitting with my eyes crossed for the better part of an hour trying to understand what the incredibly badly dressed scientist was presenting to an auditorium full of people who kept nodding and saying ‘mmmm’ thoughtfully, I accepted my fate that without a science degree it was unlikely I would ever properly understand what assays, interlukin 6 receptors and epigentics are.  Concerning, seeing as it’s my job to actually communicate this to others. What is even more concerning is it made me realise there are other things in the world that I cannot understand, no matter how many times it is explained, and I don’t have the excuse of sciencey-big bang theory-gobbledegook to hide behind, like:

The electricity bill. I do an automatic fortnightly debit, but it doesn’t cover it all, so why when I try to pay the difference, I get rebuffed. Why doesn’t a huge money sucking, electricity producing, environment destroying conglomerate want my money? Is it not good enough for you? Fine by me!

My super. This is something for future Claire to worry about. Next!

Health insurance. This is quite embarrassing, but I don’t think I quite understood it until I found myself thousands of dollars out of pocket following a recent minor operation. Not to mention the other thousands of dollars I have been paying them for years and years thinking my transformation into the bionic woman would have already been paid for by now.

One Direction and Justin Beiber. Back when I was a teenager (the last millennium – sooooo long ago), the swoon worthy blokes had a bit of an edge and it was attractive that they spent less time on their hair than you did. Those One Direction (or Wand Erection as a friend dubbed them – teehee, penis joke!) boys seem to be the human embodiment of a Ken doll manufacturing line. Don’t they know there is a formula to boy bands? Duh! Where’s the ‘bad’ one? And where’s the sensitive one? And where’s the funny one? Oh and that blipping Justin Beiber, his diamond earring is larger than Kim Kardashian’s circus, sorry, I mean engagement, ring. It doesn’t exactly scream masculine, does it? Give me Zack from Saved by the Bell and Dylan from 90210 any day, even if the latter is probably about to be shipped off the local nursing home.

Sushi. I can’t quite bring myself to eat raw fish and even the ones without the fish have that icky cream cheese smothered all over it. Why is cream cheese perfectly acceptable on a bagel, but when it’s squeezing out between sticky rice and squishy avocado it makes me want to find a bucket immediately? Despite being from Queensland and not eating sushi, I’m not a complete red-neck… I have eaten some adventurous things for the record. Like a possum and no, I didn’t find it on the side of the road! It was in a very fancy restaurant, thank you very much.

Women who claim g-strings are comfortable. These traitors to the sisterhood obviously have a higher pain threshold than I or are experts at lying to themselves. No, of course my arse doesn’t look big in this horizontally striped tube skirt. I can’t help but think that people who manage to convince themselves that a strap of fabric wedged up their clacker and credit card swipe is comfortable would be the same people that think the moon landing was fake, Elvis is still alive, Harold Holt is on a Chinese submarine and Tony Abbott is a friend of woman-kind. Bring back the bloomer, I say. Prude? Who me?

Salary packaging.  Yawn. Just give me the money and make good on the promise that it’s still income-friendly to work for a charity.

Don’t fret, Delta. Those extensions should be sewn in – you don’t need to hold on.

Delta GoodremWhy is she Australia’s Sweetheart? She has bad hair extensions, even worse eyelash extensions and an out of control ego. How she managed to turn mentoring a lovely, talented, young blind girl into an opportunity to talk about herself, is beyond me. The insincerity is astounding. Oh, and here’s a tip, Delta: if you’re going to pretend to be upset, please at least muster up enough liquid or get hold of some belladonna so you can squeeze out at least one tear so we can all be slightly convinced. Although some neo-hippie yammering on about never being more connected to the universe than right now makes me produce enough tears (of laughter) that I’m happy to share.

Ok, I’ve probably (not inaccurately) painted myself as a flaming moron and before you ask yourself ‘how does she not fall over more often?’, ask yourself ‘what don’t I get?’ and please share!