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Why does the person in front of me always seem to have so much trouble using an ATM? It never, ever fails. I can go, punch in my PIN, get cash out, done. Less than a minute, usually. But what am I forgetting to do? Because apparently, this is a task that is meant to take ages. 

Why can I write a list of stuff I need to do, but then lose the list and get caught up in frustration about the list that I lost, rather than just writing a new list?

Why does it feel so nice to go sans bra?

Why does the flatulence from other people and animals smell so much worse and feel so much more disgusting than that which I produce? 

Why doesn’t my E Toll tag have a clear tag number? And if it isn’t clear, why on earth does the RTA insist on knowing that number to actually do anything with the damn E Toll tag? 

Why does Tony Abbott think it is OK to make the choices he makes for our country, without considering the people who make up the population of our country? Old people are people. Disabled people are people. Women are people. 

I don’t want more fighter jets.

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I don’t want to separate mothers and children and families to make a point about detention centres and asylum seekers. Haven’t they been through enough? They’ve certainly been through more than I can understand. More than you can understand, Mr Abbott. 

Why am I such a cranky turd around the woman I love? Why does the best of me that she deserves get clouded by the turdish behaviour I sometimes exhibit? 

It’s because I feel safe with her love. 

Safe enough to be horrible. 

Why do 4WD owners seem to be characterised by being the pricks of the road? 

Why would I secretly enjoy a 4WD? 

Why do we go into a shopping frenzy when the stores are going to be closed for a single, solitary day? 

Why do I always, always, without fail, need to go to the toilet when I am at Bunnings? 

Sometimes life is perplexing. 

But I tend to think it is still good. 

I have to go and put a bra on now. 

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