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One thing I most definitely haven’t missed throughout the tedium of Covid isolation is unsolicited advice, otherwise known as condescension. I’ve suffered from this particular malaise all my life, whether that’s due to my gender or diminutive height, I couldn’t say.
As a perpetual target for the well-meaning and judgemental alike, I’ve grown accustomed to dealing with it as a trained dog does on a leash. There are two main ways to respond to these insufferable people, with a few minor variations to those themes.
The first is to point out that you neither asked for nor wanted their opinion on your clothing, hairstyle, life choices [insert most common event that elicits an eye roll here] and turn your attention to their most obvious flaws. This method rarely, if ever, ends well. Instead of being the victim of their condescension and downright insulting advice, you immediately get saddled with one of two titles — an aggressive b*tch or an ingrate. They were, after all, trying to do you a favour by pointing out that your lawn needs mowing or your bum looks fat in those trousers, etc etc.
The second response takes more time but enables the invading know-it-all to leave thinking that they have miraculously revolutionised your whole life by wasting twenty minutes of your precious time explaining how to sand down a door frame before…