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The ultimate Disability Bitch

20th August 2009

Readers, I know I've said some unkind things over the years. I know I'm not always right. Actually that's not true, I am always right. What I mean to say is I know that some people disagree with me, some of the time. They are idiots, obviously, but it does happen. What I'm struggling to say is that I feel I've been quite restrained over the years. There are many things I could've said that I didn't, for fear of offending the nation. But today that's all about to change.
A thermometer
A doubtless very 'normal' temperature reading
The main thing, the real biggie, the important observation of all important observations, the one that I've deliberately held back on all these years is ... and I'm sorry, readers, but I just can't keep it in anymore. I've had enough. Hold onto your hats. I. HATE. NORMAL. PEOPLE!

There. I've said it. And it had to be said. You want me to explain myself now I suppose? OK. Well, it's just, I've been on holiday for a fortnight now and I've had to watch the Normals parade up and down the beach, exposing their disappointingly monotonous flesh from tip of perfectly proportioned toe to the exquisitely coiffed hair on their textbook lovely heads, untroubled by imperfect mental health, functioning as human beings without the aid of seven different daily medications, and skipping along the sand without mobility aids like it doesn't even require any effort.

Readers, I tell you what: if I didn't hate them, I'd pity them.

Imagine how boring it must be, to wake up every morning knowing you're probably not going to fall over, risk death by attempting to board a train in rush hour or play Russian roulette with your very life by forgetting whether or not you've taken your tablets at lunchtime. You have to feel sorry for them. No wonder they park in blue badge spaces without permission and use disabled toilets even when they're not actually disabled. It's the only excitement they get in their tiny little normalised lives: the thrill of seeing how long they can get away with occupying a 'handicap area' illegally before some junior authority figure has a stiff word with them. It's the only thrill they get! Poor souls!
Walking stick
Don't feel too sorry for them, though. There is one very specific reason why I hate the lot of them. It's this: they all think we want to be like them. The sad, deluded chancers.

Seriously, here's an example: The other day I was at a big party. And because it was a big party, I was using my most fashionable walking stick, co-ordinated perfectly with my drop-dead gorgeous outfit. This had not gone unnoticed: I was working the room.

Soon, a disappointingly dreary non-disabled stranger was making her way toward me. Of course she was. I am uber-cool.

"Disability Bitch?" she said. "You're the Disability Bitch, aren't you? I'm very sorry you have to use it, but that is a beautiful walking stick."

Two things: first, of course it is a beautiful walking stick. Do you think I, Disability Bitch, would make my way to a massive festive gathering with anything other than a beautiful walking stick? Why are you surprised? Clearly you are of the belief all cripples are legally obliged to carry around ugly NHS issue grey plastic disability aids. That, you dear, sweet, naive little able bodied random party guest, is because you have probably only ever seen photographs of disabled people looking pathetic on charity advertising hoarding , and never actually met a disabled person in real life.
A wonderbra-like perfect model
Let me try to find an equivalent situation you'd understand. Ah yes: It would be rather like me presuming all non-disableds look like the girl off the Wonderbra ad. They don't. They are just trying to sell you something. You gullible idiot.

Second, why the hell are you, a tediously normal person who I have only just met this minute, feeling sorry that I have to use a stick? What business is it of yours how I choose to accessorise myself? You know nothing of my life, and yet you suppose it is a disappointment to me that I have to use a mobility aid, even while acknowledging that my mobility aid is one of the most gorgeous objects you have ever seen in your entire life.

Basically, you tiresome specimen of humdrum normality, you are assuming that your life is better than mine simply because I am disabled and you are not. How arrogant is that!

Give me one good solid reason why your life is better than mine. I bet you even have to pay full price to use public transport and sometimes have to stand up on buses. Yeah? I don't. See! I win!

Oh dear. I did warn you I was especially cantankerous this week. I know. Every self-respecting cripple thinks these things in the privacy of their own head, but now I've gone and said them out loud.
I realise I may have single-handedly set the cause of disability rights back about twenty years. After all, it is the twenty first century, right, and we're all supposed to be holding hands together now - those of us who have hands. We should apparently be joining forces and working together, disabled and non-disabled alike. Yawn. Do I look like I care?

If you want to be friends with non-disabled people, readers, that's fine. Campaign for your own disability rights. Me, I'm going to be sitting here in my own little ghetto, minding my own business. I never wanted to be normal anyway.

MillsWatch

Nope, I have no idea what Heather's been up to this week because I'm still lounging on the beach, but I'll tell you what - she does have one saving grace: she's not normal. Kudos, Heather, for being a bit weird, like all the best people.

Facebook

If you're not normal, you can be my friend on Facebook. Be warned, though, I'm thinking of filtering my friends to ensure only the abnormal can be on my list. Suggestions for qualifying questions most welcome. Join here.

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