I was supposed to tackle The Pit. Didn’t do it.
I was supposed to go to a wedding reception on Saturday evening. Didn’t go.
I was supposed to go to a friend’s birthday picnic on Sunday afternoon. Didn’t go.
What did I do instead?
I spent the weekend thinking Grumpy was dying. After taking her to the vet this morning and expecting not to come back with her, it turns out she was just having an arthritis induced duvet weekend.
Given her age, I have a feeling I’ll be making more trips – the vet could soon become my new BFF.
After getting home and releasing an indignant Grumpy from the cat carrier, I needed to get some shopping seeing as I hadn’t been out all weekend, and I was getting fed up of eating Doritos (note to self: there ARE all sorts of snacks available other than tangy cheese Doritos. In fact, there are other foods available too).
There is a slight problem with the store I use. It’s not the shop itself; it’s a couple of the assistants who work there. They’re not rude or anything, but when I see them I mentally groan to myself.
The first woman is friendly and polite.
But.
People in the queue start pitching tents when she’s serving.
When it eventually gets to my turn and I’ve rolled up my sleeping bag and left the rest of the people behind me in their tents with a rousing chorus of Happy Days Are Here Again, I then spend part of my time looking over my shoulder to see who she’s talking to, because it doesn’t appear to be me, and the other part willing her to get the biggest sugar rush she's ever had in her life.
She always asks if I’d like a bag for my lottery ticket. Seeing as I don’t buy the world’s biggest lottery ticket, I always decline.
The other assistant is a very personable woman; friendly, chatty, polite, willing to help and doesn’t have speed slower than a tortoise syndrome.
The problem?
She has a beard.
She really does have my sympathy, but as hard as I try, I just cannot talk to her without my eyes trying to glue themselves to her chin.
She must think what a nice, super-friendly person I am, because after she’s finished serving me, I end up giving her my biggest smile and a cheery ‘bye’ before walking away.
It’s not friendliness so much as sheer relief on my part that I haven’t:
a) asked if she forgot to shave that morning and,
b) reached out and felt her chin to see if the hair is soft and womanly, or prickly like a blokes is (note to self: NEVER go in that shop when under the influence of alcohol).
I am going to get in so much trouble one day.
