In the words of the play of the '60s “stop the world, I want to get off.”

I can no longer go on – my world has shattered into little gray blobs which settle onto the gray pavement where people trudge along in their gray suits and gray shoes and gray lives. All the color has gone, and I’m frankly not going to play anymore. I’m done. Roger. Over and out.

Yes, dear reader, I have lately discovered that my beloved mother country, indeed the city in which I was born – Melbourne – has fallen into the P.C.P. – the Political Correctness Pit – with such verve and enthusiasm that I doubt anywhere in America can rival it.

Apparently, some rabid thing got her knickers in a twist, and insisted that the icon used in the light at the crosswalk was politically incorrect as it resembled – note the word “resembled,” not indeed “was” – at this point I want all snowflakes to turn your faces to the walls my darlings so I do not shock you into blithering blancmangedness – a man.

So, Melbourne spent enough to house and feed its homeless for a very long time and changed the icons to also include a resemblance of a female – i.e. one wearing a dress.

Now I don’t know about you, but I think the last time I wore a dress was back in the '70s where hippy-dippy flowing skirts and peasant blouses were all the rage. Oh no, I’ve just stepped into the PC limbo by possibly – oh hell, probably – offending every current and former hippie and the world’s peasants all in one psychedelic outfit.

I really don’t set out to offend, gentle reader, I just don’t have an off button, and so off I will go leaving offended petals in my path. I should actually be pitied in this current sensitive enriched hysterical world in which we live, but am I? Heavens no! I am quickly, and I might add joyfully, becoming a social pariah – and loving it.

Where does the crosswalk icon crisis end, I ask you? Will we end up with one for transgender crossers – a nice boa and size 12 strappy sandals? How about wheelchair users – will we have one with both a manual and a motorized chair – as God knows we don’t want to offend those without an engine? Illegal aliens, how about you? Black, white, yellow, brindle, polka-dotted, acne/clear skin, blonde, brunette, redhead?

It’s a pedestrian crossing people! You cross when the light turns green. Oh dear, I’ve now offended all non-Irish people. And you don’t cross when the light turns red. Uh, oh – Native Americans I’m so sorry.

We should now all “grow a pair,” put on our big girl panties, or our tidy whities, and look the whining, complaining Gladys Kravitzes of this world in their eyes and – well, to paraphrase my native tongue – go forth and multiply.

Get over yourselves. You are not that important, nor are you that interesting. Merge into the crowd that is indeed the human race, get on with life and hey – here’s a concept. Go have some fun for a change.


-- Annie Dear lives in Lee’s Summit. Email her at