Imagine your father is about to call you into line for the reckless way in which you have failed. Prepare a paragraph justifying yourself, expressing your disenchantment with the way the establishment lead their lives.
Be normal? Act like the rest of us! – What on earth does that even mean, dad?! What is normal to you, is abnormal to me. What is abnormal to your neighbour, is normal to mine. Pfft regular business hours, what are they? Are a police officer’s business hours less regular than those of a teacher?I don’t like degustations, sure the salmon gelato is interesting and when mixed with nitrogen infused potatoes, it indulges all the senses. BUT! My local pub does the same with their Wednesday T-bone and wedges special. Only I don’t walk away feeling hungry or guilty for spending a poor African child’s annual immunisation costs on nitrogen infused potato. And for the record, I don’t want 2.5 kids. If I decide to have them I want a whole 2 or an entire 3, but not 0.5 of one. However, first I want to backpack around the world, couch surf and barter guitar lessons for a dinner. I do not want to sit at the front of the aeroplane in a spacious hub, where I can’t even see the person next to me. Oh, and by the way, I don’t care if you don’t like them! They are MY friends. I love their choice of colourful non-collared shirts and stiletto-less shoes. I love their natural skin without the animal tested rouge and if they want to express themselves using body art- well that is up to them to decide. Look dad, your sense of normal, is to me as uninspiring, constraining and lifeless as a seamlessly folded straitjacket. I accept you, jacket and all. Now you have to try to accept me-jacketless.