I am completely and utterly in love with myself. I do not know when I fell in love, but I am pretty sure it wasn’t the day I discovered that I had a smoking hot body that I could feed anything and it would never think to betray me by piling on the kilos, neither was it the time I discovered that my I’m was higher in the languages which put me in a better position to air out my opinion than a lot of other douches. Yes douches, I discovered a long time ago that the average human wasn’t worth listening to because generally they spoke about nothing of worth. Whilst I on the other hand figured I had the encyclopaedic brain of Pluto, Napoleon and that Greek Medicine Guy, remind me again to Google him.
See what I did there?
No? Never mind.
I am still to pinpoint the exact moment that I fell wholly and utterly in love with myself. Not in the masturbatory way that
did do with her 8 year old self, or do I like the god of self love (Johnny
Bravo) spend hours preening myself. Chelsea
No, it comes to me like a whisper when I sit in front of a reflective surface and catch a glimpse of my heart shaped lips, or a mental pause when I find myself surrounded by people who are totally and utterly clueless.
When I was in high school I was teased incessantly about my prepubescent breasts which would never make up their mind about growing or staying, any bra I wore was destined to look like an empty satchel so I stopped.
I still remember that guy who called me “Flat kwaba.” A term I later turned on anyone with no ass at all or no hips for that matter. I never made fun of anyone with small boobies.
It would have been akin to laughing at myself.
Once I heard my dad tell me “you are selfish and only think of yourself.” I was only half listening so did not quite get where he was going with his tirades, he had these, a lot and I learnt to tune him out.
A couple of days later he repeated the exact same thing, this time I had been listening, I did not have a choice. He had come back from work early and found me trying to slink unnoticed out of his bathroom. Which from the way our house is planned was impossible to do.
“Where are you coming from?”
“I was in the bathroom and I...”
“What have I told you about using my bathroom? Heh?”
“No, no, no you are very selfish,” he continued.
I did not know where he was going with this, no one had ever for any reason called me selfish, but the hand on his belt buckle made me nearly faint with fear.
Following three other incidences where daddy publicly proclaimed that I was selfish and never thought of others, I began to explore this a little bit more. And in so doing, I discovered quite a few things about myself.
I do not like sharing.
Not in the, this-is-mine type of thing. But the crazier, I-will-rip-your-head-off sense. Do not ever touch my stuff... it is mine. If I had wanted you to have it, I would have asked someone to buy it for you.
What? Is that yours? Can I have it? No? Well that’s just mean.
I am never wrong!
I cannot say this enough! Even if Google and Wikipedia say otherwise, I am NEVER EVER wrong, so stop arguing and nod your head wisely.
I have a total disregard of little people.
Not children mind. Little people are those who never bothered to stop by a college, or God forbid A ‘Level, I do not listen to them, talk to them, neither do I see them. I am ashamed for them, although one can excuse monetary problems, or later success, which is hard to achieve. So go ahead, prove me wrong.
I refuse to talk about anyone’s problems but my own.
Before I partake in any discussion, I ask myself “will it benefit me?” if the answer is no, or slow in coming then please do not at all bother. For this I refer you to the BFF who has enough love for the world to sit still long enough to listen. I do not care.
I would go on but I still want you to come back to my blog and marvel at my awesomeness, so I will reserve the rest of my narcissistic tirade for Twitter and Facebook (place pleased as punch emoticon here)