I’m adamant that someone way back in my bloodline must have been Greek. Literally, within seconds of removing the wrapping from a freshly bought dinner set… “OPAH!- you can guarantee that that set will have reduced by a minimum of three pieces (no alcoholic beverage required). I have long assumed that my shattering capabilities are rivalled by none.

However, while sitting in a waiting room the other day, I stumbled upon something that circulates with an even greater capacity for destruction than even my butter fingers: the humble gossip rag.

I plucked one from a coffee table and before I knew it I was staring point-blank at Kim Kardashian’s ass, I can only assume, because in relation to world hunger/environmental destruction/people’s propensity for dropping bombs etc etc etc, her scantily clad glutes and what wares they’re boasting warrants cover-worthy news.

I will now recap the other important issues that I discovered over the next five minutes that, alas, I can never get back…

One flip of the page and I was confronted by vital information. I knew it was all very important because the headline, “cheating celebrities”, was in bolded print and had an exclamation mark, signifying that readers should hold the phone.

Next came a fashion lady with segment devoted to informing the masses about what they “must have”, this season. I know this to be true because she headed the page with “this season’s must haves”… IN BOLDED CAPITALS, which, as we discussed prior, means it’s extremely true and important. I own nothing on her list! I turned again, only to be confronted by said fashion despot scrutinizing various celebrities for their fashion choices, based on important criteria deciphered by her that is based on what she decided everyone “must have”. (At this point, wrists are looking mighty tempting… Where’s a butter knife when you need one?). Descriptions are thrown around, such as — “too much skin”, “colour very severe”, “too country”, “bad shoe choice”, etc etc.

Turned the page… More bikini bodies — someone’s too thin, someone’s too fat… Continued on regardless of burning urge to put a stop to the pain. Model/celeb pushes chemical-ridden products down readers’ throats, despite it being blaringly obvious that said celeb wouldn’t touch such cheap, barnacle-stripping slop with a ten foot pole. At which point, I swear my frontal lobe took to spasming.

Time for “stretchy faces” segment where magazine berates women for using “additional help” in quest to remain youthful. Words, such as “horror” and “too far” are thrown around. But surely all these beautiful broads are just succumbing to the kind of pressures that this very magazine creates in the first place… ? Never to mind because just across from this page is a riveting section also devoted to stretchy-faced celebs, only this time, they are apparently defying their age “gracefully” while remaining “stunning”. I’M CONFUSED!

Brain could well be caving in. Reality stars! Page on Justin Bieber’s antics. I need an Aspirin. Someone’s in rehab and apparently it’s my business. More swimsuit bodies: fat/skinny/perfect — according to someone who is apparently the worldwide adjudicator on such……… make it stop!

Suddenly, plate-shattering seemed relatively harmless. With what little ability for formulating thoughts I had left, I decided to embraced my kitchenware-smashing tendency for no other reason than- the damages rendered from it could be much MUCH worse. I shook off thoughts of my deemed “flaws” — hair looks like a rat’s nest, pancake ass, wearing trackies that are NOT on the “must have” list, and vowed to live by the mantra:

Make love, not war… shatter plates, not self-esteem.