It's wicked to mock the afflicted

The other day, I got a fantastic package from Japan (Cheers Karla! Send more Miso! just kidding). It was filled with goodies like royal milk tea of which I had drank in a matter of days. It also had a bunch of Japanese candies as well. All the candies have such enthusiasm for itself. It always has a cartoon picture of the sweet inside smiling and waving. Hurray! You are going to eat me! Even the turd candy was thrilled I was going to eat it. My impression of Japan closely mirrors this. It’s a country full of enthusiasm. Maybe it’s just their television, but every time I see a Japanese advertisement or television show there is always someone forcing a huge smile, shouting and wagging the peace sign at the camera. After five seconds, I am exhausted. I have far too much Anglo in my Saxon to be anything more than suspicious at such behaviour. Enthusiasm is not to be trusted. Although I have to say I prefer this loud direct approach to the more insidious and manipulating approach that is common parlance here and in the States. As a child raised by bob barker and the golden girls, it has taken a long time to recognise how little the crap they are hawking is necessary. I have become slightly neurotic in this now. I hesitate to purchase things that prove to be indeed useful. Yet, I still find myself with crap I purchased for no good reason. The balance is difficult to maintain. A perfect example is my bread machine. In the centre of the honkey flag there is a bread machine driving an SUV, but I was given one of these for Christmas. Let me explain. I do quite a lot of baking. That is because deep down I am a 70-year-old grandma with bad hips and blue rinse just screaming to get out. I make bread quite often but it is a laborious task. It takes all day to do it right. A bread machine sounded great but the tension between my honkey upbringing and my fight against such tendencies prevented me from buying one. The truth is I love that damn thing. I haven’t bought bread from the store since. I can’t win. I must accept my destiny. My parents were honkies and so too must I be. It’s only a matter of time before I’m complaining about poor people and voting Tory. Now, if you’ll excuse me I have a rye which is almost finished.