by Diana Hockley
I rarely sulk, but when given to do so, it is necessary to make sure that it is done everywhere.
The lounge room is a good place if there is anyone else at home, as those in the house can’t miss what is going on. The loo is an excellent place to sulk, but only if my husband Andrew, the two cats and our four pet rats all know that I am in there expressly for the purpose of sulking. The local cows in the paddock below us do not know or care, being such high achievers in the past-time of sulking, that other people’s efforts cut no ice with them. So if no-one knows that I am sulking in the loo, then there’s no point in being in there and I may as well lie on the bed and read a book. This is an excellent venue for sulking if I am too tired to emote standing up.
Sulking in the shed is no good, because it is my place to listen to my favorite station, ABC Radio National. Their programs are too interesting to sustain a sulk for any length of time and the wild mice are totally uninterested in the quality of anyone’s sulk, because they are too busy doing their own.
Last Saturday was a good day for sulking. The fact that I couldn’t find anyone to come out shopping with me was an excellent reason. The fact too, that we got about two drops of overnight rain, after everywhere else received a goodly amount, ensured the vibes were just right for a ferocious sulk.
Andrew was up the Coast time-keeping at the motor races, so having no audience – the rats and cats were asleep– I could only practice-sulk for most of the day. However late in the afternoon, things looked up considerably when I rang two friends and asked them to come into town on Saturday night to go to the movie. I didn’t want to go on my own, but one said she hates going out at night, and the other had just finished work, giving the feeble excuse that she was too tired, which was wonderful news for a dedicated sulker.
I devoted the rest of the night to lounging in front of the TV, feeling neglected and eating chocolate in the company of the rats who really didn’t care as long as I was there for them to entertain themselves by climbing in and out of my sweater, shirt-diving, paying special attention to clinging to my skin with their spiky little fingernails and snatching pieces of my chocolate.
All in all, I reckon I must have racked up about eight hours of preliminary sulking and executed the last five hours with a truly, superbly skillful and experienced performance.
I am considering composing a letter to our local TAFE (Technical & Further Education Colleges) proposing to run a series of courses entitled Serious Sulking for Beginners (ages 10-13), Advanced Sulking (ages 14-19) and finally a Refresher Course in Sulking For the Over 50s. I realize I have left out ages 20 to 50 +, however most of these ladies will have been so taken up with husbands and children sulking, that they may not have time to update their own skills.
A refresher course in The Art of Sulking for the Over 50s should be very popular. This premise is based on the principle, that as many of us can’t remember where we left our glasses, what we said two minutes ago or where we left the car in the supermarket car park, we may well have also forgotten the Art of Sulking!