How Very Dare They!

My signed copy of Sir Terry Pratchett's Snuff

I was all excited this morning waiting for the post as I'd received an email last night telling me that my signed copy of 'Snuff' was on its way.

I'd just finished munching on my cereals and was drinking my cuppa while catching up with local news on my shiny newest toy [an android jobby], when I heard a knock then a voice asking ... 'are they in next door?'

I dashed off up the entry shouting ... 'yes they're in next door!' I signed for my 'Snuff' - it's my birthday present to me - while the post woman sorted out the rest of our mail.

There it was, for all the world and her neighbour to see - well me and the post woman actually. But if I was at all sensitive instead of armour-plated by my grumpyness, I'd have been mortified.

A bill? you may think, hmm, well there was one letter asking me for money ... fat chance.

No, it was a big letter from that effin shop I keep moaning about, wanting me to take out OVER 50's life cover. Bog off Asda, it's never going to happen!

Now, if it had been a nice, pretty envelope - keep the green, it's my favourite colour - with the suggested 'special birthday offer inside'. I'd have just thought ... 'Who the hell told 'em it's nearly my birthday?'

But no, there's an ignorant statement right at the top of the envelope, suggesting that I am over 50 - in writing big enough for me to see without my glasses, even with my presbyopic eyesight - and therefore am desperate for life cover because I'm so old that no insurance company will touch me with a bargepole.

And so what if I am hovering around the 50 mark, I've been told by someone tactful - yes, they are well trained - that I don't look it, but now the whole of Royal Mail knows I'm chuffin old as well as grumpy!!

Here's news for you Asda - I don't want life insurance, I'm officially a grumpy old woman lady, who enjoys scaring the pants off her family by telling each of them - individually - that I'm going to their sole responsibility and that I like OAK! ...