So many day-ruiners.
Yesterday I heard a heart-breaking story. A woman, a mother, a friend (of a colleague) had lost something close to her, er, wrist.
A Fitbit.
Or rather, ANOTHER Fitbit.
A second of those slim, stylish devices had accidentally met it’s end in this good lady’s washing machine and would never count another step. Vale, Fitbit 2.0.
Yes, there will be other Fitbits, but the issue is BIGGER than that. The middle-classes continue to suffer mild inconveniences and niggling annoyances such as this on a daily basis.
Won’t somebody PLEASE think of the bourgeoisie??!
Like the time my Cavoodle broke into my bedroom and ate my entire bag of pepitas. I’m still not quite sure how I got over it to be honest with you. I was certainly light on snacks that week.
Trying to wrestle free of the pepita-grief again threatening to overpower me (thanks, Fitbit lady), I reached out to my workmates for solidarity and discovered that I was not alone. They too had many distressing, privileged frustrations.
Here’s just a few:
When you put perfume on in winter and the cold spray gives you goosebumps on your neck.
When Coles is out of Fromager d’Affinois! (Which I have been assured it the best brie ever offered by the Australian supermarket duopoly).