Disability Bitch vs miracle cures

Well, congratulations, I look forward to the shelves of all my favourite sweet shops being cleared of that disgusting 'special' chocolate in exchange for more of the full fat stuff.

Yes, I HATE MIRACLE CURES, and not just because I take pride in my little crippled identity and don't want to be a boring old normal and all that stuff.

You see, every bloody time the newspapers run a story about some tragic cripple being cured by some amazing new treatment, everyone who bumps into me in the street assumes it's only a matter of hours before I, too, will be saved from my hideous disabled existence in favour of a lifestyle less offensive to the world at large.

The other day I was in my local corner shop with my no-legged friend when an old lady came up to us. "Nice to see bananas in your basket," she said. "I read in the paper the other day that bananas are very good for people like you."

"Thanks," I said. "Bananas are very tasty."

"I hate bananas," said my no-legged friend, not unreasonably.

"Yes," she said, "and that's why Bitch is still walking and you've got no legs."

And only an hour ago, some bloke I'd never met before who apparently lives down the road from me was offering to organise a fundraiser at our local pub. He wanted to get me a plane ticket to America. He said he'd heard there was a bloke out there could do something spectacular for my little spasticated limbs. He said I might even come back walking like him.

Readers, I ran home and locked the door tight. I don't envisage myself coming out until the rest of the human race has died.