books

Ever since taking a few modules on criminal socio-analysis in my degree, I’ve had a weird, pretty fucked up interest in reading about serial killers.

What a way to start a post right?

Not only has this made me constantly paranoid, but it’s also put me in some awkward positions…

Take for example my last holiday to Disneyworld. Wearing a cutesy bikini, cowboy hat and stupid oversized Paris Hilton sunglasses – which make my nose look pointier, my cheeks look chubbier and generally look like a complete dick. So yeah, I looked like your average poolside 20-something… except I was the one reading “Going down fast”, the Charles Manson book with his mug shot glaring crazily on the cover.

People would walk past me, begin to smile, see what I reading and look away. I’d noticed people doing this a couple of times… until one day a little girl ran right to my lounger after her beach ball. I’ve always been good with little girls, little boys not so much – I have literally nothing to say to them and end up doing a sort of awkward head-nod “alright?” thing – but little girls love me. As she showed me her brand new Minnie Mouse ears and bracelet, her mum ran over, glared at me, before hurrying her away – as she did I heard her hissing to her husband “I don’t want her talking to that girl… have you seen what she’s reading… she’s obviously not right… up there” tapping her oversized, greying beehive.

Awkward.

At the risk of being cemented into the ‘crazy people to avoid’ category, I spend the rest of the fortnight reading Cosmopolitan and trashy celeb magazines… blend in Jen blend in!

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