Many people enjoy contradicting others. They enjoy it so much they even contradict themselves. My local pub, the birthplace of contradiction, contradicts itself by having a sign outside to stop walkers entering in muddy boots and yet inside there’s a book of local walks for walkers. Either you want walkers or you don’t.
People who complain about low light levels in their houses build conservatories so they can bask in the light. They then built it out of Reactolite glass that cuts out most of the light, or wear sunglasses.
People go to the pub to cheer themselves up, but then they drink alcohol, the number one depressant. Doctors go mad about the dangers of salt in food, but they do nothing about alcohol which poisons and kills ten teenagers a day.
Recently I decided to go with the flow and look at getting tattooed, just down one forearm with fashionable quips: fuck off and die, love / hate, Fiona Bruce, the usual thing. I can press my forearm to the windscreen in a macho display just like other males. However having the windscreen etched with the same tattoos and just pressing my untattooed arm to the glass and pretending they’re all mine works just as well.