Well, it’s been a few days since I’ve been disproportionately scathing about a section of humanity, so without further ado I’m going to be in ur screen bein’ ur misanthropist about people who propose to their partners in public places.

You know the deal. You’re at a concert. The band grinds to a halt. The frontman sheepishly steps back and hands the microphone to a well-fed sweatmonster who has decided to ruin your evening by dragging his poor girlfriend onto the stage to deliver nauseating clichés about her making him happy (the irony of the stage literally being a pedestal being lost on him) before dropping to one knee and saying something along the lines of “Jane, in front of all these people – will you marry me?”

Then everyone in the crowd whoops and hollers as if Jesus himself had returned to save us all over again, bringing with him heaven’s supply of Haribo Starmix for everybody instead of boring old bread and fishes.

Nothing makes me feel so alone in a crowd. I want Jane to step onto the stage, yell “NO!” into the mic, then kick the passive-aggressive psycopath in the bollocks with a specially modified shoe before it’s all too late and she becomes a world-weary wife, listening to her husband singing along to the Country & Western classic, “I kissed my baby with my fists” while she scrubs her blood stains off his shirt.

Mr P. Aggressive is fostering a situation of social awkwardness in order to force his girlfriend to say yes. It’s the lamest thing I can possibly imagine, and when it happens, it makes me want to puke all over myself. This girl has the right idea, but could probably have done with knowing about the modified shoe concept in advance.


3 Responses to Passive-Aggressive

  1. McKinley says:

    Come on. Some women eat that shit up. Who do you think you are begrudging other people happiness? Shit, let them ruin 5 minutes of your evening. Chances are they’re at a fucking James Morrison concert anyway.

    Half of me loves the drama of a big hoopla of a proposal, but the other half knows I would go beet red and start swearing profusely.

    Once some guy wrote me a song for Christmas (note: I’ve had 3 songs written for me. Umm..muse much?) and he sang it in front of all our co-workers. We weren’t dating or anything…it was my secret santa gift. The song was called Mckinley Junction and the opening line is “hey mister can you tell me the way, back to mckinley junction”. Oh yeah. I turned as crimson as my velour tracksuit (I worked at a yoga shop, gimme a break!) and I covered my face and uttered curses at everyone oohing and aahhhing.

    This comment is pointless and self-centered.

  2. recoder says:

    The women who eat that shit up are the same women who can be heard yelling “He didn’t mean to hit me, officer – he’s a good man. Don’t take him away. I fell asleep in the driveway and he done run over my head with the truck” when the police intervene in domestic violence disturbances all around the world.

  3. McKinley says:

    Naw. Those women aren’t even proposed to. They just get knocked up and have to hurry and have a wedding before they start showing.

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