Tuesday, December 04, 2007

Stinky munchkins of doom

Every so often, I put on my new boots and totter off to the grocery store to purchase all those things that keep me from starving to death. I say totter, not because I in any way resemble an infant in the way I walk, but because it is hard to move like a graceful adult on roads which consist mainly of ice.

When I woke up on this morning, stomach growling and Bergerac (my mind) telling me that there was nothing particularly tempting in the fridge, I knew it was tottering-time once more, so off I went.

I like walking to the store – not that I, in my drivers-licence-free state, have any choice – because then I get to philosophise over what sort of foodstuff I would like to buy. It’s strange how much of the time is spent thinking about cookies. Things such as carrots and beats never come up. Go figure.

Very pleased with having made it to the mall without getting my luvely footwear wet, I pulled one of those little blue plastic baskets out of its stack with a graceful swish. Rather, it would have been graceful if I hadn’t almost knocked over a display of Christmassy nuts.

I quickly pulled out my shopping list from my coat pocket, pretending that the Christmas-display- murder-by-plastic-basket had never taken place. I always write a list. If I don’t, I always forget something and end up buying soap in stead. The process of how that happens is a mystery probably best not dwelt upon. Let’s just say that if you’re ever out of soap, I’m your gal.

Right on top of my list, scribbled with a bright red pen, was the word “Milk”, and so I started the exciting journey towards the dairy isle. After having picked out a fine looking carton specimen, I reached out my hand to grab it. At that very moment someone shouted something which sounded like “Gerfuch vivong!” The next thing I knew, two tiny women hopped past me, placed themselves in between myself and my chosen carton of milk, and then proceeded to ravage the poor dairy isle. Yoghurt, milk and butter was literally thrown from their comfortable homes and into the tiny women’s cart. Any objections on my account were effectively muffled by the thick fog of cheap perfume which hung around them, leaving poor Bergerac unable to function properly.

Then they disappeared as soon as they had appeared. Somewhat disoriented, I placed the milk carton into my basket and moved towards the second item on my list: bread.

Once again, I carefully considered my options before I selected a plump looking bread, reached out my little arm towards it, and…. “Yoshyou schepflunk!”

Then there were little, blonde heads in front of me for a second time, accompanied by groceries flying through the air and the overwhelming haze of Eau De Brothel.

I eventually escaped the store with all my groceries and my life intact, but I’m not entirely sure whether or not the clown that I saw on my way home was real, or some hallucination brought on by perfume poisoning.

Photo by Ryker Beck for


ticknart said...

Actually, the clown was the physical manifestation of the perfume, following you.

tomshideaway said...

Clowns make me think of Stephen King's story IT....I don't like em...I'd start carrying those shar stick with you on the way to the store...from the sound of it you could probably use them in the store too.

Seraphine said...

I have soap on my Christmas list. hint hint. When someone wears that much perfume, I wonder what she is hiding. It smells of desperation.

Jocelyn said...

Okay, I just left you a comment and now, some moments later, am sure it didn't go through.

I just wondered at your luck that the perfume-drunkenness didn't have you staggering into the soap aisle.

Tai said...

Ugh, glad you made it out of their in one piece!

Big Brother said...

Probably Santa's little elves checking up on whether you've been bad or good. A bit of camouflage.

Jazz said...

Life in Hellhole is always full of fun it seems.

Hageltoast said...

perfume poisoning, rudeness and clowns all in one day. Poor Bergerac!! I'm surprised he/it? hasn't retreated permenantly.

choochoo said...

Ticknart - that would fit, really.

Tom - well, if the clown was a physical manifistation of the perfume, like Ticknart says, then IT would be the perfect clown.

Seraphine - I generally tend to think they're hiding really bad BO...

Jocelyn - did....
Not only that, I bought a soap dispenser shaped like a duck.

Tai - you and me both.

Big brother - thank god santa lives on the north pole, where we can't smell his elves.

Jazz - it is, indeed.

Toasty - he wouldn't dare this close to finals.

furiousBall said...

I try not to display my Christmas nuts unless things get past a second date, just sayin

choochoo said...

furiousball - and we all thank you for that.

Nicki said...

I used to love working in the grocery store, and see how nobody could come in and buy just condoms. Nope. Condoms and oranges, condoms and whatever else that made no sense, never just condoms.