While listening to the radio this morning, I chanced to hear a song called “Last to Know” by that delightful young lady, Pink. This piece of what I loosely call music contained the following lyrics:

Why was I the last to know that you
Weren't coming to my show?
You coulda called up to say "good luck."
You coulda called me back you stupid f***
Why was I the last to know?

First date, we ate sushi and
It went well, I was funny and
You said I was a cutie.
That's the last thing I heard from you.
I left tickets at the door for you.
I had to tell my mom that there was
No more room.
You didn't show, that was so uncool.
You coulda called me back.

If you can, disregard the bad language and lack of eloquence for a moment. Now, I would have thought the most sure-fire way the ‘feisty' songtress could put off a potential love interest would be to subject them to her music for any prolonged period of time, such as a concert. This was clearly the deluded girl’s mistake. Furthermore, the individual in question would be forced to collect the tickets himself, thus acknowledging both a desire to attend the performance and a close personal connection to the indicated entertainer- tantamount to mental illness. I suggest that Ms. Pink accept the situation and move on. Pain is, in her own insightful words, “painful.”

Off to see THE Passion of THE Christ tonight. I shall reveal my opinion shortly. Sainsbury’s have quite run out of Jacob’s Seaweed Flavour Thai Bites. My disappointment was tangible.