Although I do subscribe to the theory of evolution as an inevitable part of being human, I am not a huge fan of this whole inheriting genes thing. Not that I'm all for genetic engineering or anything. I find the idea that one day we might be able to pick and choose what hair and eye colour our babies end up squeezing their way out of our nether regions with, terrifying. I do not, however, appreciate having no say whatsoever in the 'dud' characteristics of my genetic make-up that I've been dealt. Seeing as I am a female, and therefore exempt from the line of male pattern baldness, the onus falls on my mother dearest for her hand-me-downs.
Indeed, following a bout of rather aggressive travel sickness on, what should have been, a relatively pain-free train journey yesterday, I realised that this was just one in a long line of examples of miserable genetic traits.
Along with the Herpes virus (aka horrible bubbling sores of cold on my lips/up my nose/thank god nowhere else), here's a few of the wonderful prospects that await me as the aging process takes its toll:
> Varacose veins
> A strong aversion to coffee/spicy food/anything generally fun of the food/drink ilk. (Although, having said that my matriarch does still enjoy rather-a-lot-of champagne.)
> Motion Sickness brought on by fairground/theme park rides (or anything that moves for that matter, hence my already highly developed lack of sea legs.)
> High blood pressure/cholesterol
> A knack of being riled up by pretty much anything/anyone, to the point where you can't even remember what/who you were angered/irritated by in the first place.
> General irrationality/lack of direction/map-reading skills/notknowingleftfromright
I'm almost certain there's more. Oh joy.