a couple of days after i moved jobs, my mother died. she was v young and it was v unexpected.
everyone at my new firm was amazing, so kind and supportive. after a few months, things had settled back down at home, and i was spending weekends back in london. i got on particularly well with one of my new colleagues, caroline. now she was (and is!) a really lovely girl, but like most people who have not been through anything of the sort, she firmly believes that you should "talk about it" and "try to deal with it" - best of intentions, but utter failure to realise that both these things are the last things you want to do.

so one very drunken evening, we've fallen out of the taxi and made it up to the sofa. we are stuffing pizzas down our throats and she is trying to get me to talk about it. eventually she put her hand on my knee, her eyes shimmering with sympathetic drunken tears, and said:

"you can tell me all about it. i do know how you feel, you know. i mean, i was absolutely devastated when i lost my cat."

for a moment i was too stunned to say anything. then i fell off the sofa laughing. the thought was so genuine, but the execution so bloody crass. she was mortified when i reminded her the next day. she hates it when i tell that story, and now i've just told you lot. ah well.
( rachelswipe with a fork, Sat 5 Nov 2011, 18:02, 1 reply)

You should have said you were laughing
because her cat died.
(Gritty, yet fluffy. kipperpillock is obsessed with me =), Sun 6 Nov 2011, 7:31, closed)