“I think I’m pregnant?” – No. Much worse than that…

“It’s, in, my, bag.” Aaaaaagggghhh. Nooooo. I don’t want to go into your bag. I can never find a bloody thing in there. I have no idea how you ever do.

What. The. Fuck?

Apologies in advance, this is just a rant…

How on earth can you handle carrying around so much shite in no apparent state of order, with no semblance of organisation. It’s like emptying your entire closet into a bin bag and shaking it up, then expecting to stick your hand in and find a bus ticket.

I simply couldn’t function like that.

Not that I’m tremendously organised by any stretch of the imagination. But I have a ruck sack, and in that ruck sack – I have a pocket for my wallet, a side part for my glasses, a pocket for my camera, a bit where my loose change goes, etc etc. And if I want to get something I know exactly where it is.

Rooting around in the middle of my bag to find my wallet every time I needed it would drive me freakin’ in-sane. I don’t know how women do it.

“It’s in my bag.”
What. The. Fuck?

Here’s your bag then, get it yourself.

OK, rant over.