Nice...

It's official. I am too nice. I join the ranks of Mother Theresa, Jesus and Dame Joan Plowright. Not normally seen as fault a few hundred years ago, it was probably even seen as a quality to be sought after, but now in this cynical, hard-edged, reality TV sludge of an age, it's not so cool. It's wrong. People don't want 'nice' anymore. Perhaps I am just slow on the mark. It's not sexy, or cute and apparently it won't help you get what you want. Over the last few years people have been telling me to not be so 'nice'. I ignored them. Actually, I find it incapable of being 'not nice'. Now people who hardly know me are telling me to not be so nice. Not their fault, they pick up on it. Alarm bells kick in, my conscience huddles into the air raid shelter of my thoughts. I find myself being nice to arseholes who let me down. Yes, what is that all about, indeed? Much like a hamster in a wheel, I can't seem to stop myself from being courteous and understanding, I just keep doing it instinctively. I have to get angry. Annoyed. Vexed. Pissed off a lot more. (And yes, I've been using my new Thesaurus.) If I can achieve the status of being called a 'Right C*nt', perhaps only then will things start going my way. Shame really, as nice is pretty well, 'nice' most of the time.