Hands up if you’ve never been stressed. What? All hands firmly down? Oh, wait all except Paris Hiltons’ of course. Being stressed would require her to give a fuck. And let’s be honest, unless it involves someone blocking her access to those braided headbands she wears around her forehead, life isn’t going to get too complicated for that vacuous blond piece of fluff.

The subject of stress led a friend and I to talk about 2009 and to how, quite frankly, a fair bit of it has sucked. She was talking about how my mother being sick, was the most stressful thing and that she ought to stop whinging about her woes.

But stress is stress. It's all relative.

Be it her husband having trouble securing a job as often he is “overqualified” and the threat of their 6 person family losing everything, to our other girlfriend who’s business is going through some very tough times , we all go through a period or periods when the big “S” is inevitable.

How you deal with it depends solely on the person.

Like the lovely Miss C I work with.

A little history about Miss C – At age 20, she and her boyfriend who we shall refer to as Cock, were in the process of building a house when he whisked her off to Hamilton Island and proposed. Big fuckoff engagement ring, boozy days drink-driving the golf carts and excessive consumption of champagne induced sunstroke were to be had.

Consequently our workplace doubled as a wedding planning office. We researched venues, we helped choose colours for bridesmaids, the songs were being chosen. It was all systems go.

One weekend on their way to taste wedding cakes, Cock and Miss C had a minor bingle in his new ute with a young woman we shall forever refer to as Mantrapper. Unbeknown est to Miss C, Cock and Mantrapper were swapping more than insurance details if you get my gist.

Right well, so Miss C gets a text (Oh yeah, all class) about a week before Valentines Day, approximately 5 months after he proposed to her, saying “I can’t do this anymore, I want you to move out”. Seemingly from nothing. No fight, no discussion. Nada.

Clearly Miss C was shattered. Having said that, she came to work everyday and although obviously upset, was professional to all the clients and with her work.

Within 3 months Cock was exposed for the cheating toss that he is. He’d been getting it on with Mantrapper, who already had 2 children from a previous relationship, since the week after their minor car accident. Bigger news, she was pregnant again – To Cock.

What about the house they were in the middle of building? The one he was meant to contribute half the repayments into? Well he no longer kept up those payments. Apparently three children and one skanky hoe cost LOTS of money.

So Miss C, not even 21, was working 2 jobs, living at home with her mum all to keep the banks off her arse and ruining her credit rating. All the while, Cock would not agree to selling the house, nor would he help with insurance, rates, repayments and all the other lovely expenses that come along with moving into your own new home. The only way out, for Miss C was to refinance the house so she could pay for it herself. Which she worked out how to do. But then Cock wouldn’t sign the transfer papers. Just this week, he asked to know what Miss C's Super is worth. He wants a slice. 2 years after the fact, he, through no fault of Miss C's, is still in her life and still stressing her the fuck out.

I am by no means a violent person. Lover not a hater, but how this guy hasn’t been bazookered Damir Dokic style is beyond me. Even I want the guy to go down or at least give him a taste of my egging services.

For one person who should be superstressed, Miss C amazes me everyday how having been through such a shitful time in the last couple of years, she can be so unbelievably mature and the fact that she has not lost her bundle, I mean really lost her shit, is a testament to her as a fabulous young lady.

So point is, if there is one, is that I’m learning we can’t just get off the roller coaster when it suits us, but I’m hoping the unseen button pusher is going to ease up just a little, just for a bit. Holy shit, hope it's not Paris Hilton.