‘You look like the scrambled version of Humpty Dumpty — after the accident,’ — is probably the worst insult I’ve ever had thrown at me.
As it was my own mother who threw it, I think it hurt more. Since her dementia had developed, her blatant disregard for mine or anyone else’s feelings had become more and more prominent. Mind you, thinking back, I hadn’t even known she was ill when she’d shouted the insult up the stairs as I trudged to my room after yet another failed date. If I had known, I wouldn’t have moved out and left her to the mercy of her carers, but back then she was still going to the shops on her own without being brought home by the police for using supermarket aisles as toilets.
I’m Jason Harding. I’m ugly. I know I’m ugly. I’m told I’m ugly and the results of seven hundred and thirty five unsuccessful dates have confirmed that I’m simply not attractive to the female of the species. It’s all quite depressing, really.