Suppress The Urge

There are some urges that must be suppressed. You must not pull the bulbous nose of a companion, just to test your theory that it will make a honking noise. You must not attempt to play the bongoes on the head of a balding elderly colleague, no matter how much you may desire to. You must not pull the pigtails of your school companion, nor press the belly button of a person wearing a too-short-shirt, nor surreptitiously drop a cupcake down the bell of a tuba as the player honks his way through another tune: these things are simply not done.

Yesterday, I was sitting in the cafe at lunch when a woman wearing the highest high-heeled shoes I have ever seen tottered through the door, balancing herself against the breeze. I instantly suppressed the urge to go over and give her a tap on the shoulder as a way of verifying my hypothesis that she would wobble and collapse to the floor. For I know that these urges must be suppressed, for the good of civilisation.

But O, how I wanted to ...

UPDATE! - If Paris Hilton falls in a forest, and there's no-one else around to hear it except Nikki Hilton, does she really make a sound?