I woke up this morning in a foul mood.
I knew it was going to be one of those mornings where everything goes classically wrong. For starters, my hair was in my mouth. Eew. Then, in perfect cartoon form, I bashed my toe on the corner of the bed, but only after I stepped on one of my dogs’ bones.
I picked up my phone only to see that my adorable photo of my son was covered in angry caps locked letters and Facebook posts. This was obviously a job for my iPad.
You see, today was the first post I had published on Cairo Scene. Did I go with one of my posts about drinking and texting? About crazy people in shrinks’ offices? Or about my cookie binge eating problem?
I went with politics.
On cue. Phone rings.
“Honey, how are you? Ok listen, so, let’s try to not write about politics. Its just so messy. Ok love you. Bye.”
At least she read it.
I start the bath, toothbrush in mouth, iPad in hand.
Let’s read the first comment, shall we? “Another little brat! Screw you Shareen Ayoub.”
On to the next, “You are not Egyptian.”
I turn off the bath and go downstairs. Straight for coffee.
Mug in hand, I’m greeted by a technicolored office. It seems my son found my stash of sharpies and had gracefully coloured over all of my computer keys. He also (bless his little heart) covered my screen in post its. I can’t help but smile a little, because it’s cute and funny.
I scroll through the rest of the messages. I think someone flung the words, terrorist, heartless and mass murderer once or twice.
That was it, verbal abuse like this only has one cure.
I return to my office with a bag of chocolate chip and caramel swirl cookies, but only after I hit my funny bone on the counter. A fair price to pay.
I start chatting with my best friend, who, like everyone else in the world who isn’t me, has his shit together today.
I can feel his sad eyes through my screen, I can actually hear his thought process, it goes like this, “Ok, so good for her, she spoke her mind and that’s a good thing. BUT. Politics is just such a divisive topic.”
And just like that, those exact words appear in my inbox. And you know what – it fixes it.
I toss the cookies and go back to my bath with a huge grin on my face – because the truth is, who gives a shit?
I feel cured. I feel invincible.
On my way up the stairs I stub my toe again.
The irony is not lost on me.
Sweet Dreams World.
For a dose of my highly “offensive” column check out – http://cairoscene.com/scenario/?p=7398