The story so far... Gina has started blogging. But she's discovering that it isn't the route to happiness she was expecting.
Oh – my – God. I mean, oh – my – f**king – God. Just look at the number of comments she gets! Forty-five! Forty-f**king-five for that wet fart of a blog-post. I don’t believe you morons, really I don’t. I mean – look! Look at Supermarket Sweep - quality writing; entertaining; educating. And what does it get? Three comments and a bit of Swedish porn-spam. My God in Heaven, where’s the justice?
Of course, they all feel sorry for her don’t they? ‘Course they do. I mean, just look at some of the drivel they’ve written in the comments section:
Here’s (((((Hugs)))))) honey, hoping you’ll feel better soon.
You said that yesterday, roughly at the same time, luvvie...
Aw, poor you! You must be really suffering xxxxx
Xxxx? Spider kisses.
What's up kid? Sending you some positive Twitter vibes...
What's up kid? What's up? She's made that abundantly clear, you arse-hole – she’s a self-centred, hypochondriacal attention-seeking and manipulating BITCH - ‘sweetie’! Well, at least you got the ‘kid’ bit right - she is; and a bloody big one too.
Oh, stop bitching Gina. It'll do no good. And anyway, there's a great big pile of washing that you should be doing. Chances are at this rate it'll still be here when Simon gets back home from work. And of course, he doesn’t understand what I’m doing, does he? No. He'll come back home from work and take one look at the overflowing washing basket, sigh and ask me: ‘busy day, love?’
Then he'll start to load the washer, probably telling me to go and put my feet up, have a cup of tea. Then afterwards he'll probably make supper. But not until he’s bathed young Benjamin. Oh God, why can’t he simply shout at me? Why doesn’t he call me a lazy good-for-nothing, sponging off him, doing nothing all day but a bit of silly blogging? It’s what I am, after all. And what I do. Why doesn’t he hate me? God, I’d have some fabulous posts to write if he did.