Unused towels, old magazines, outdated clothes, unworn shoes, empty boxes, chocolate (I do this by eating it - clever plan, I know), unridden Vespas. Also endangered are expensive road bikes with possible flat tyres that look as though they're going fast even when they're simply propped up against a wall in the Study (or Library, as the Husband likes to call it - I suppose it does have books in it, and the requisite fireplace (unused of course)). Pantry food past its use-by date is O-U-T. That includes the peanut butter which would have apparently been best before October 2010. Broken stuff, annoying stuff, stuff which I'd forgotten I even had, stuff that seemed to have snuck its way into my house without me even knowing. Things I seem to have collected from when I was a small child; things I got just last week. All junk, all gone. Even friends are no longer safe.
You know the type. The friends who aren't really friends. The acquaintances, the pretenders, the sycophants, those who claim to be friends then immediately assume the position of Chief Authority of Gossip on the subject of You. And don't get me started on Facebook Friends or worse, fellow Tweeters. Particularly those Tweeters who consistently tweet relentless self-serving comments about - that's right, themselves - to an audience they don't even know, have never met and are never likely to meet. An audience who probably doesn't even read their tweets because they themselves don't know the person they're following. Or care what the person they're following has to say. Yet they follow each other. It's a vastly strange, faceless social circle, the Twittersphere.
Don't get me wrong - I understand the value in a good tweet to raise awareness, build a business, enhance a profile, or find out if a loved one is safe in the middle of a natural disaster but I've never understood the random meaningless self-serving tweet to the unknown follower.
I know someone who has taken to tweets like a calf to the teet. He tweets incessantly about all manner of God-knows-what all the time to what I am sure is a largely uninterested audience. And then re-tweets other indiscriminate tweets from one of the other 338 tweeters he is following just in case one of his own unknown followers might be interested. How thoughtful (yes, I'm being facetious). But, he says defensively, there are Key Words you can use and all sorts of Tips and Tricks to Build A Following. Look at me (me - you see?), I'm at 50 and growing, he proudly exclaims.
He's right. He is at 50 and growing, but what's the point? He has to sift through 338 other Tweeters' rubbish to find something apparently worth re-tweeting. Imagine how time-consuming that must be?
Maybe I'll conduct some Tweeter-testing myself, if I can ever find the time. And you can even follow me on Twitter while I do it to see the results live yourself. But first I lay down a challenge. Tweeters: have a reason for tweeting. Beyond just time-wasting.
You had to get me started, didn't you.
Back to gossip. Strange though it may seem, gossip doesn't worry me too much. After all as my wise mother once said, everybody gets talked about at some point and there's nothing you can do about it so why worry? Too true.
I know people though who worry enormously about the spoken word; about any gossip said about them, even potential gossip that has not yet been uttered. I used to be like that but in my defense, I was only 11. I cared deeply about what other 11 year olds thought. But as you grow older (and, apparently, I'm told, wiser), you care less about what people think of you and much more about living a full, well-rounded, meaningful life that is prosperous in a way that is significant to only you. Because really, you are the one that cares about your life more than anyone else. So it strikes me as an odd waste of time; worrying about something that may or may not be said by people you probably don't care too much about anyway on subjects which may include you that probably aren't even true. And that we can't do anything about anyway. So let them gossip.
What we can do something about though is the Broken Promises Friend. Which is where the de-cluttering is headed.
Top of my current hit list is the Broken Promises Friend. Or since everyone loves a good acronym these days, the BPF. We all have at least one BPF stuck in our closet. It might be a boyfriend, a sister, an in-law, a flat-mate, an ex-wife, a wayward parent, a boss/ally, a third cousin twice removed, that nice neighbour Dr Jekyll who turned into that nutjob Mr Hyde. Or just someone you thought you'd call a friend but has since failed dismally in their assumed friend duties.
Whoever it is doesn't matter because in my filing system any and all can be loosely filed in the Broken Promises Friend cabinet. And if your BPF cabinet is large - overflowing even - then it's time to do something about it. Lucky it's spring. A good time for cleaning out I'm told.
It's remarkable what the BPF gets away with. Minor fibs. Flippant lies. The elusive omission. Earnest promises of rectification. Often they even believe their own earnestness. I have spent quite a bit of time stealthily studying the BPF and one initial point to note is the glaringly obvious yet sneakily subtle reluctance (refusal even) to be locked into an End Date for Rectification of Misdeeds. The canny BPF will rarely, if ever, be pinned down to an End Date for Rectification. That's not to say they won't earnestly promise not to repeat their misdeed. They will. Earnestly. Repeatedly. And with great contrition. Because they're so so SO sooorrrryyyyyyy. But whatever the BPF is earnestly promising repeatedly and sorrowfully not to do ever again they will actually still do again. And again. And again. You. Just. Watch.
My patience with this hasn't just worn thin; it's worn right out.
I've decided that anyone who continually does this kind of thing is in fact no friend at all. Gone.
The broad definition of the BPF also encompasses that subset known as the Constructively Critical Friend (or the CCF). A CCF is one who will candidly give you their Critical Opinion (usually unsolicited or sought) under the guise of Friendship. It's what Howard Wolowitz* succinctly calls a N'egg (a negative statement that sounds like a compliment). You're right to think the BPF is a shifty and complex character.
My ground-breaking, under-the-radar research on the BPF has unearthed some startling finds. There are a lot out there, let me tell you. And they're not always slinking in the shadows. They might try to be helpful and friendly. Some might even sit down and try to eat lunch with you. They might even try to buy you lunch. Be wary.
Here's a good example. Recently when a friend of mine (a real one) got engaged she excitedly told the news to another friend of hers (obviously not a real one but a CCF in disguise). The in-disguise CCF announced that while she was happy for my friend (a clear BPF lie that will shortly become apparent), she herself would never want to get married - or even engaged for that matter (I imagine this was said with a slight condescending sniff) - and risk losing all her assets to the betrothed if the union failed. Because, you know, 1-in-3 marriages end in heart-wrenching, asset-destroying demise (again said with a knowing and condescendingly sympathetic shake of the head). That won't happen in your marriage of course (pretend laugh to soften the blow, accompanied by a sad, small regretful smile and a condescending pat of the hand), but it does happen. All the time. 1 in every 3, They say (who, might I ask, are 'They'?). It goes without saying this BPF is single.
Or how about this for a corker? Only this past weekend a smiling CCF perched itself (uninvited) at our table and - if you can believe it - proceeded to gush to another friend of mine (a real one) that it must be hard for my friend because her husband is just SO nice, like all of the time, and she is kind of, well you know, not the same. You see the N'egg in that, don't you?
These BPFs - and it follows, CCFs - manage to camouflage themselves as friendly, smiling, personable, huggable people. Often they like cheek-kissing and may even attempt the European two-cheek Hollywood-style air-kiss. And then some of them, like the CCF above, manage to pull out such a doozy of a N'egg over an uninvited chicken and salad lunch that you're rendered just a little bit speechless. Mind you, the CCF would have preferred banana and honey on toast - Oh My God (dramatic roll of the eyes), my most favourite meal ever, the CCF gushes. But I never eat it of course (a coquettish shrug of the shoulders). Too many carbs.
As is always the way, you will naturally belatedly come up with all sorts of respectably nasty retorts wrapped in glorious wit but unfortunately later is just, well, too damn late.
Don't be too hard on yourself. You like your BPF (some of you may even love your BPF) thus we allow more-than-the-usual amount of getting away with it. We might even allow lengthy periods of getting off Scott-Free. Years' worth.
If you're a nice person (apparently like my friend's husband but not like my friend) your only course of action is to clean out your BPF cabinet.
And that's why we're here. It may not be easy. And like the warning the Protecting-My-Assets Single BPF above proffered to my recently engaged friend (protecting-my-ass, more like it), it might even be somewhat heart-wrenching to cut ties with your BPF. It may take time and perseverance and not be without a tear or two (depending upon the level of closeness of your BPF). But time heals all wounds and tomorrow is another day.
And the good news? You now have room for potential, new (hopefully real) friends.
Applications are now open.
* The Big Bang Theory: The Lizard-Spock Expansion (#2.8) (2008) episode. Howard is one of four resident geeks on The Big Bang Theory who falsely assumes he is attractive to women (he's not) and steadfastly believes he could be a womanizer if only given the appropriate chance (a feat more impossible than summiting Everest wearing a locally-made bikini, a pair of Havaianas, and carrying an iPhone for support since your foolproof plan is to use the Maps App to navigate your way, call for delivery pizza for sustenance, take snapshots which you hope to tweet to all of your unknown followers, and of course sensibly check the weather forecast).
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