Copyright brisbanetimes
I’ve resisted telling the school kids on my train to get their wet, muddy shoes off seats and been so annoyed with e-bikes parked across the footpath I’ve fantasised about pushing them over, one by one, like dominoes. So who even am I? An uptight, intolerant mid-lifer who needs to smell the roses and mind her own business or a worldly-wise empath who fights injustice when she sees it? I’ve entered the twilight zone in which any effort to advocate for myself or others, follow rules, or seek clarification is weaponised as Karen-like behaviour. It’s OK to speak up unless you’re a woman in midlife. Is there a demeaning descriptor for the young dad who went off his tree when lifeguards told him he should get off his phone and watch his child’s swimming class, or the rude older man talking down to the receptionist? If I ask a question of a sales assistant, request water at a cafe, ask for more Parmesan, or make small talk with staff, my kids squirm. I’m not always grateful for their feedback.
