I hated Frozen when I first watched it. Now, I secretly hope the “Let it Go” song is in the charts forever.
“The kids love it.”, I say in my defence, as my husband rolls his eyes while his ears bleed.
Got me thinking, perhaps I’m addicted.
- All the cool crowd think it is amazing. You sit on the sidelines hearing them talk about it. Can it really be as great as they say it is?
- First time you try it, you feel nauseous. And the second, and the third. What the hell is the fuss about? This is truly awful.
- The cool crowd continues to rave on about it. Surely it must be you who is wrong, not them. After all, they are cool. You persevere.
- Suddenly, you can’t imagine life without it.
- You breathe it in every time you are around it.
- You go out of your way to find little opportunities to experience its hypnotic magic.
- It’s utterly inappropriate and unsuitable for someone of your age to be sucked into this nonsense. It makes it all the more appealing.
- You go to watch an assembly. They don’t sing a Frozen song. You feel exactly like you did when you were no longer able to smoke in pubs: unsettled, unnerved, outraged.
- The cost of it, and its associated paraphernalia becomes prohibitive. But hand stitched Elsa dresses, like nicotine patches, just can’t satisfy the craving.
- The thought of that time when it is no longer part of your life brings a tear to your eye.
Yet, of course, it must end, this obsession is unhealthy.
Want to quit? I send you good luck – you’re going to need it.