What does hip hop karaoke have to do with a freakin embryo I hear you (no-one) cry? Well this was the venue I was forced to go before Malay Crew ventured out onto our holiday together. While I relished going here when I was a vibrant young thing, now at the grand old age of 25 I can't stand being within a one mile radius of people that are frittering their lives away dancing and drinking and having a good time. Plus it's not even free now pshhh.
When the karaoking began, I sat at the front table, a guy quickly came and said I couldn't sit there. Bit abrupt but fair enough I thought, if this is where those who wanted to rap had to sign up. But no, the man just sat there. He said I couldn't sit there because he wanted to sit there. Like did that just really happen? The hood in me would have cussed him out, but this is the new zen me. So I didn't say anything. When the first karaoking finishes he gets up to go to the loo. The other thing that I used to like about this place is that there's no usual hostile, touch me and I'll beat you, London vibe. Everyone in there was still like that, saying 'excuse me please'. Not this guy. He was an inch away from my face and decided he would rather slide his gross body over mine to squeeze past me than bother wasting three breaths saying 'excuse me'. Same when he sat back down. I gave him my best death stare to no avail, I thought there was no way I could feel more like my physical and mental self did not actually exist to this guy. AND THEN! He took his phone out and proceeded to elbow me in the crotch whilst texting. Even my crotch didn't exist to this douche bag. Although this guy would be privileged to be used for washing vaginas.
This incident propelled me to throw an adult tantrum and storm out of there, feeling a mix of emotions and asking myself many questions. How does this guy exist? How does he function in normal society elbowing women's crotches and acting like he didn't? And who would he be texting? Surely no woman would endure a disgusting selfish non-entity like that? If he can't even acknowledge my crotch how could he possibly maintain the duties of a boyfriend?
And why did my husband not say anything? Why did I want my husband to say anything? Why didn't I say something myself? He and everyone else in the vicinity should have known what a cunt he was. Was I really angry at him? Was I really angry at my husband? By the end of the 20 minute train journey I realised that I would never want a husband who gets aggro at total strangers, he isn't like that and that's one of the many reasons why I love him.
But that realisation was not to be the end of my possibly hormone-induced freak out. Outside my house I somehow managed to relate this douche lord's behaviour to the calamities of the world and eventually Syria. Yes hip hop karaoke became a hysterical, tear-filled rant about the tragedies of Syria and how no-one is stopping it. What a cruel, cruel world we live in and perhaps bringing a child into it is the worst thing I could do. From this night forward I respected my husband even more for enduring and listening to a weird little fuck like me.
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