Moral Panic

Moral Panic is something I learnt when I studied Sociology during A Levels. If you ask me now I know jackshit about sociology. All I remember from that lecturer's class was his abject fascination for prostitutes (he kept discussing about them) and his quirky way of pronouncing words. He usually reads from the text and let's face it, this is surely not the best method to learn anything so we would usually doze/snooze/idle away our time during his classes.

One day though, he woke us up by asking: OK class? Are you vague? 

Nothing wrong with that of course, except that he said it weird. Vague = vay-gew.

So we stifled our giggles and said in all seriousness: No sir, no vay-gew.

Then one of us, Azrani, piped up to say: But Sir! I have one vay-gew! Can you help me clear my vay-gew?

Oh how the mighty tried to repress our giggles. 

Anyway, I didn't particularly want to talk about the vaygew lecturer but rather, about moral panic.

Which I know nothing about. Hmm.

Anyway, I have this one peculiar habit. You know how us single girls get wee depressed and lonly sometimes? No? It's only me?

Eleh, tipu.

SOO YEAHHHH. Sometimes us girls (read: me), get wee lonely and feel all wretched about now having someone to lerve, not having someone to call up just to say hi and not having to twirl hair infront of someone while listening to him talk about his day at work etc. You know the drill.

While some go out and buy ice-cream, or have a good cry in the car while listening to some sappy song on the radio, or watch go have a good karaoke session with girlfriends, I...I...

Sign up with some online dating sites. Because I panicked. I panicked thinking about my age and how I am not getting any younger. How I would never be able to bear any kids and OMG how on earth am I going to change the light bulbs when I am too old, too weak, too sickly and too fat to climb the ladder?

Sad, I know.

In bouts of panic, I'd sign up to whatever it is that is available. Except that I get stuck with the profile - I mean, how do you try to come off witty and sexy and alluring and mysterious when all you feel is PANIC STATION PANIC STATION SOMEONE PRESS THE RED BUTTON.

So two things would happen - either I'd abandon the effort half way or worst...I'd revisit the site on my next panic attack. I'd doggedly think of a witty repartee for my profile. And wait.

When the responses starts to trickle in (I mean, let's admit it, I'm no Mona Lisa), I'd panic again. Is this guy for real? Who'd fall for me? OMG is he just in to just have a shag? OMG is he a pervert? Who'd want to shag a fat middle-aged geriartric like me? OMG OMG PANIC STATION PANIC STATION PANIC STATION.

And so it goes. 

Next time it happens, I'd just scoff some choccies and weep in the car listening to Adele.

Life's a bitch I tell you.