Wednesday, 7 March 2012

Case Study: The BOFWAG

It was a pleasant afternoon so Coyote and I decided to seek sustenance and head for the seafront.  The usual suspects were there: the screaming children demanding ice cream, the loved-up couples strolling hand in hand, the seagulls carrying flick-knives...

We parked up and sat for a moment in silence (we are capable of that.  Honest.) stuffing our faces with chips - which is probably why we were silent, now I think about it - and enjoying the scenery.  The waves languidly crashed onto the sand and a boat bobbed gently on the horizon.  It was blissful.  But then Coyote's nose twitched.  He'd caught the scent of something...something nasty.  

'What is it?' I asked, watching him slowly scanning the car park.  Suddenly, his eyes narrowed and he coughed.
'Chelsea boot polish.'  He lifted a hand.  I followed his pointing finger and a chill scurried up my spine.

It was a BOFmobile.  A silver BOFmobile.  A tense silence filled Monty as we pondered our options.  Wordlessly, we nodded at each other.  It's our duty to all of you to get as much information as we can - and if that means getting close enough to a BOFmobile to be able to smell the bacon sandwiches, then that's exactly what we'd do.

We crept towards the vehicle; the stench of ridiculously expensive aftershave almost overwhelming us.  Tears began to stream down my face as the fumes engulfed me and Coyote wrapped his scarf around my mouth and nose to save me from collapse.  As we drew nearer, we noticed a woman in the passenger seat and our hearts leapt.  We'd heard of these but never seen one in real life...

A BOFWAG.  A lady on Twitter (thank you, @Makambo67) had told us about these poor, unfortunate creatures; but we'd always assumed that BOFs loved themselves so much that they couldn't possibly maintain lasting relationships.  It seems our assumption was wrong.  See?  If you pass BOF information to us, we can be prepared.  Knowledge is power, people.

Like drunken ninjas, we stumbled into a shelter and silently observed the BOFWAG.  She looked very unhappy.  Her body language conveyed crippling boredom and frustration as she sat next to her BOF husband, reading a newspaper.  We could hear her soul crying; it reminded us of the the agonising howls of an injured animal.  We wished we could help her - free her from her chains...but we knew that was impossible.

What was she thinking?  Was she even capable of independent thought any more?  She looked crushed; a ghost of her former self.  How had she got herself into the situation in the first place?

It's highly probable that she married the BOF before he bought his first linen jacket.  He might once have been a vibrant, soulful man with open eyes and a beating heart...but had somehow fallen into BOF ways.  It would have happened too quickly for her to notice.

She was beyond our help.  However, her suffering isn't in vain - because we can learn from her and, with foresight, might be able to save other women from similar, horrendous futures.

If you think you know a woman who is with a BOF in training, warn her.  For the love of all that is minty, tell her that she might be making a huge mistake.  If you've seen him eating bacon late at night; if you've seen him browsing Chelsea boots online or leafing through his Filofax in a tie shop, please tell the woman he's with.  If you don't, she will be condemned to a future of vapid monologues and you'll feel guilty for the rest of your life.

Have a heart.  Do what's right.

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