I just spent what “seems like years” pushing a shopping trolley around Coles this morning with my little buttercup. It occurred to me that if any criminals are despairing at finding an apprentice to carry on a career in safe cracking, they would be well advised to consider any of the women checking avocados.
Their delicate, insect like fingers run across these green cobbled fields of potential landmines with the speed of a textile fabric loom.
Avos are held, pressure tested for ripeness, evaluated for colour and smell and ruthlessly discarded. Some that measure up are rejected out of contempt for reasons unknown, and at a speed that would make galactic travel possible. Like many a foolish, life distracting partner, I have offered up an apparently worthy and pristine gem, only to have it laughed at and thrown into the carrots. “May as well sit with the carrots, cause it’s not making it as a bloody avocado is it!”
We, the lost ghosts of shopping, trail behind the shopping cruisers like a cold ethereal fog of perpetual sorrow, never realising the joy of finding acceptable fruit. This is unsurprising as we do not have the knowledge, skills, or genes of the chosen ones.
Time constraints meant I bade this produce hell farewell, before we travelled the ice cliffs of Frozen goods, where the souls of men can be heard crying out from those frosty shelves. “What shall she pay for the frozen taylor, what shall she pay for the frozen taylor, what shall she pay for the frozen taylor, when you start your yawning?
#writing #marriage #despair #wraithsagainstshopping #avocados