“Exschuse me…” breathes the hot, rancid breath of a man who is around 90% likely to have pulled what I believe is termed a “tactical chund” only moments before. I feign deafness but Mr.Vom clasps me with a clammy grimy hand, steadying himself and ensnaring his pray in a masterful piece of drunken genius. “Ummmm….sooooo…wass in your necklace then?”. He gives me a knowing wink as if he knows, and I know that he knows. “An old man”. “Oh”. Mr.Vom’s brain cogs desperately strive for a pensioner themed sexy pun, but none they come. He recoils and is comforted on his wingman’s ample manboobs for a while, before heading back for round two. “Ummm…soooo…how do you um… how do you spell soliloquy then?” “S,o,l..” “No, no, no, you’re wrong, it’s s,E,l because it’s SEliloquy”. Mr.Vom triumphantly makes one of those hissing sounds with his finger in the air to emphasise his scorching IQ, or perhaps that he often set’s himself alight, which seems at this point more probable. “No it isn’t, you’re a douche. Look it up on your Iphone”. “Ok fine I will I will Ok fine I WILL”. Mr.Vom and Capt.Manboobs somehow get to an online dictionary. This is quite astounding given the energy they are putting into balancing and carrying a Sir Cliff Richard at the same time. “Ok Ok SO it is S, O…S, O…S,O…Oh…” “Goodbye”.
At the doctor’s.
“So, before you have the scan, I just need to ask you a few routine questions. Have you ever been pregnant?”
“Ok. Have you ever had an abortion?”
“Um no, I’ve never been pregnant”
“Oh, ok. Have you ever been told you are carrying twins?”
“What? No? Um, I’m sorry I’ve never been pregnant, and people have already asked me this about 4 times so I think you can skip this section.”
“Oh ok. How many children do you have?”
“NONE! I’ve been here for four hours, this is bloody ridiculous!”
“Don’t threaten me please madam, or you’ll be escorted off the premises”
*gestures to irritating sign on wall*
“Oh no! Don’t do that! Ok, please scan me, um I have to pick up my son from nursery soon and I don’t want to be late?!”
“Alright then. They’re lovely at that age aren’t they?”
“I’ve just bought you the best present in the world” reads a text message before my birthday. “Ahhhhh how sweet!” I reply, I wasn’t expecting extra presents. I certainly wasn’t expecting the best present in the world. Maybe someone has finally bought me the tortoise that I’ve been going on about for the past 3 years. Maybe they bought the African size one that’s illegal in this country. A luxury, limited edition tortoise for a very special birthday. A beautifully wrapped, suspiciously un-tortoise shaped gifty arrives. Hmmm….perhaps the tortoise is in a box? I rip open the paper with trembling anticipation. “Oh…Tater-Mitts?” The surrounding company beams, they can barely contain themselves. “They’re gloves! But for potatoes!” “I’m sorry, what?” My mind is still searching for traces of a tortoise in the gift bag, perhaps this is a distraction while they smuggle my real tortoise in through the garden… There are no traces. “You put them on and then rub your hands and in 8 SECONDS your potatoes are peeled!” Never mind. Maybe one day I’ll use them to peel potatoes for my tortoise.