Do you want to know who is freaking bitch? Pete Murray's dog-wife. I was calmly enjoying a coffee the other morning, when who should plonk down at the table next to me but Monsieur Murray, his horrid wife, and their snot-nosed brat kid. Anyway, while he was sitting there, she and the brat went somewhere (she probably had to wipe its shitty arse; I bet he has autism the way his arms flayed as he walked), and then returned. Anyway, when they came back, the brat was STOMPING really loudly on the wooden floors. So I do what a normal, rational person would do (when one is trying to enjoy one's cappuccino at 9am), and look around to see what all the fuss is about. Anyway, Mrs Pete Murray was all "yes, it's true! My son is wearing cowboy boots!" in this ridiculous over-loud voice. My description is not really doing it justice. But you know those over-confident girls who wear polo shirts with popped collars and study "law" or "criminology" or something equally déclassé? Yeah, like that. Only she said it in this really kinda obnoxious, faux-over-articulated way as if wearing cowboy boots was something I was meant to be in awe of, rather than annoyed. Like, bitch, you can by that stupid Big by Fiona Scanlan shit in fucking Myer. Dawei will be sipping martinis and kicking it next to the big G for many years before he feels impressed by someone wearing something that can be bought in freaking Myer. Especially as that Big by Fiona Scanlan stuff costs less than my haircuts.

And what made it even more annoying was that when I looked around, I didn't even have my bitchface on! I was merely curious as to know what sort of parent would let their child act like that in public. How undisciplined! But the way she was so quick to try to raise herself up above me, and the way she tried to stuff her materialism down my throat in another failed attempt to raise her status indicates to me that she must get that "what the fuck is your problem, woman" reaction a lot. So listen, bitch: just because your vagina retained some of Pete Murray's cum, doesn't mean you are all that. You still look like you belong bare-footed on a beach at Byron, so save your faux-attitude for someone who might be impressed with your lack of parenting skills and disheveled appearance.


Oh, and she ordered a soy latte. UGH! Take it back to the commune, lesbo.