gullybogan

Dear Reader,

Princess is associated – through her Charitable Good Works – with this community music school… thing. I don’t want to tedious you with the whole backstory, but suffice it to say that i often get the opportunity to sit in an overheated auditorium and listen to a bunch of twelve year olds throwing the theme from Pirates of the Caribbean down a flight of stairs.

And if that’s not bad enough, i have to sit in amongst their parents while the Symphonic Sproglets perform.

Usually this torture is limited to having to put up with them screaming, “GO ASHLEY!”, or trying to ignore the chorus of plipplops and dingdongs as all those video recorders swing into action at the start of each Broadway Show Stopper.

Tonight, i had to sit between… no, wait; i have to prepare your mind a bit first.

You know how they’re bringing in bigger, stronger chairs for school students, on account of how they’re all so damn obese? And you know how they’re bringing in super-size-me hospital beds on account of how ppl in general are all so damn obese?

You know what hasn’t changed to accommodate the fact that ppl are all so damn obese?

Auditorium seats.

Now, i’ve got this crippling OCD that means i don’t like touching ppl, or being touched. Except in the case of loved ones. Utter strangers hulking in the dark are right out in the (touching||being touched) stakes, i’m afraid.

So.

Princess is behind the scenes somewhere, helping with the glitter or something, and Sybylla is at home washing her hair – or so she SAID – so i was left to sit in the auditorium all on my lonesome. I wandered into the large dark space full of strangers, counted my way to my assigned seat, and found i was sitting next to…

It would be unkind to say “Jabba the Hutt”, so try to imagine stuffing an adult-sized bean bag into a milk crate. That was what this woman was like in her relationship with her seat.

I squeezed in beside her and knew straight away that the evening was going to be miserable.

Her huge gorilla arm hung at least half a foot over my seat, and the quilted parka she was wearing didn’t help with her sylphishness. Sitting there, jammed into the (for her) tiny seat was an extreme case of muffin-top.

And on my other side, Leni fricken Riefenstahl with her fricken video camera had no compunction whatsoever in stabbing me with her fricken elbow every fricken time her fricken little picturebox went plipplop or dingdong.

So this is what we need, pls, The Man: oversized auditorium seats for the morbidly obese, and for the obliviously videotaping.

Either that, or make these bastards buy two seats, and have the arm in between removable.

Or just have the arm removable, so i can beat them over the fricken head with it.

Yours,
Gullybogan