The Wig Librarian

The tram driver I had this morning had excruciatingly long fingernails. Somehow they made me angry. Someone else I know has long fake fingernails, which also make me angry. They are caked with a brown scunge that the wearer doesn't even seem to be embarrassed about. I found myself apologising every time I touched someone on the tram, despite the fact that we were packed in tight enough to really inhale each other. We seem to shudder and recoil when we touch someone accidentally, as if that contact is so charged that it may be painful. And it is strangely intimate. There was a girl/woman in front of me whose neck was arched into my face, whose tag was out and I couldn't decide whether I should put it back in for her, embarrassedly, or pretend I hadn't noticed. Of course, due to tram etiquette and general appropriateness, I chose the latter. We people are funny aren't we?

BS's mother was here over the weekend, and AM and I loved her. She told us about her father eating a run over chicken, and a woman who had a 'wig library' for women who had cancer.

AM and I cried during Shameless on Monday night.