I can be a real bastard sometimes. Two examples spring to mind:
I used to work with a chap. Lets call him Paul. Paul was a slight fellow, the remains of hair that was probably lustrous in his youth clung to his skull in the stubble of acceptance seen on the head of many a sensible balding man. Unlike those who attempt to comb their ear-hair over their shiny scalps in order to fight the inevitabilty of time. Elton John, of course, is in a league of his own in this regard. Lord knows where the thing perched on his head has come from.
And of course, there is the whole Mark Knopfler thing; a guitarist who singlehanded rescued a generation from regarding headbands as a fashion accessory by using one to hold the wispy bit of fluff masquerading as hair over his dome (so amusing did my schoolfriends and I find this, that we constructed an entire comic strip in the manner of Viz entitled: "The Adventures Of Baldie Knopfler")
But I digress.
Paul - short skinny guy with no hair - also wore glasses. And then, one day, he changed to contacts. He sat proudly at his computer, peering at his screen through the soft plastic of contact lenses rather than the thick glass of his spectacles. I happened to be passing and commented: "Paul, there's something different about you... No glasses!"
Paul visibly puffed himself up in pride.
I continued thoughtfully: "Hmmm... you know - your head looks just like a pea" - my brain idling while my mouth raced on.
Even now, nearly ten years on, I still feel the guilt. Particularly since I gather he never wore contacts again.
Why am I confessing this? Because I'm really worried First-Born might have inherited the Bastard Gene. We were walking through town and she noticed a truck with a notice on the back warning drivers of a 'wide load' (I've never understood this - if you're close enough to read the sign, presumably you can also guage the dimensions of the cargo yourself) - she muttered "If Mum keeps eating my easter eggs, she's going to need one of those for her bottom" before collapsing into giggles at the use of the word 'bottom'
(and the other example? An observation about a friend's girlfriend who'd come to a party: "Its so nice that x felt able to bring his mother along..." - but thats a whole other story of guilt)
