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colorful luminous carousel against kremlin on red square at night

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This delightful piece from the Independent gave me a good chuckle, “Manspreading has crossed over to the realm of running, and it’s not OK.”

She begins with, “Something has been niggling at me….” and I lost it and started giggling right off.  Not being a British “karen” living in London with a fancy writing job working for the Independent, I had no idea what a “niggle” was, but it sounded quite amusing!

And it is, a “niggle” is an adjective that means, “causing slight but persistent annoyance, discomfort, or anxiety.” 

So clearly a “niggle” is a man. I mean, obviously. 

A man has niggled Helen and she is not amused in the least. I however, am just rolling on the floor already having a fit of giggles.

She does not like the fact that men exist. She wishes they would just get off her planet. They take up space. They breathe. They just like, I mean, ewww…..

I am trying very hard to take Helen seriously. No, no I am not trying at all. I am now  fairly certain she is just trying to write a parody of a cheesy romance novel, about all these perfectly appalling niggles and how they are always displaying their, “Wide-legged stances and an unwavering trajectory, as if following invisible tramlines, to send the clear message: “This space is mine. I dominate. Better give me some room, love.” 

She makes herself as small as possible and holds her breath, watching as, “they choose to plant themselves, instead, in the middle of the path, arms and legs pumping, striding flat out. They make no allowances, no exceptions….” Poor Helen who has been holding her breath all along is now suffering from hypoxia and forced into, “doing a frantic parody of a Viennese Waltz.”

She goes on, determined to just finish me off with some colorful language about “exhalation triggering,” “ballooning and contorting,” how to men really need to, “fight that urge to expand.”

I’m dying over here. Somebody bring me some helium! Er, I mean some oxygen.

I’m starting to grow envious of these British women who work for newspapers! They have achieved a level of crazy I didn’t even realize was possible. It’s like discovering an entire plateau that wasn’t even on the map.  Last week I wrote about one who has actually married her chandelier, Sir Luminaire.

Niggled by a light fixture.

It occurred to me while trying to make my way through our dear Helen’s earnest lecture, that I need to lighten up, that we all need to lighten up.

 

colorful lights

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