Good Grief... I'm predictable

Tis a sad, sad day Dear Readers. It has suddenly dawned on me as I sit with a numb bum outside my lecture theatre on a rainy Wednesday afternoon waiting for my 2 hour history hit that the impossible has occurred. I, Clare Wagner, Mistress of all things Whacky, have become predictable.

There was a time, not so long ago that if I were to suddenly leap up and exclaim, “Sweet Aunt Geraldine! There goes a mob or rabid squirrels carting off my spare kidney!!”, I would get a room full of people looking from me to the nearest exit with looks ranging from utter disbelief to blind panic. However, this is no longer the case. Monday night just gone, I was parked on the floor at our Youth Leader’s meeting when I let loose a torrent of imaginative drivel that would have made my Grandmother’s toes curl… and all that happened was a fit of giggles, followed by “Facebook Status… I think so!” from The Lozanator over in the corner.

I’m being quoted on Facebook?!

I am still unsure how this whole thing works exactly but I figure it is something along the lines of people expecting me to do the unexpected so when the unexpected happens they were already expecting it so it is no longer unexpected… or something…

How do I combat this alarming turn of events? I’m glad you asked oh Reader Fair. I am going to be totally normal for 6 months. I am going to wear plaid skirts and pressed blouses. Lace up shoes and sun safe hats. I am going to buy a headband and wear a neat pony tale and cross my legs when I sit down. I am going to speak in clearly, well structured and properly pronunciated sentences and conduct myself in all ways as fitting to a lady. Then one day… out of the blue… I am going to launch myself into the hornpipe sailor’s jig and alarm thebegeebers out of everyone!!