Why I prefer shopping on my own
I had an appointment with the doctor yesterday.
Normally I’m not that fond of his waiting room, as he has a crap choice of magazines. Apart from the mandatory pile of ten year old National Geographics, the only magazines he seems to have are Fly Fishing Monthly and the Bunty Annual. Yesterday however, someone had left a newspaper behind, so I had a grand read and a puff of the pipe while I waited.
Of course the one time I had some decent [relatively speaking] reading matter was the one time he didn’t keep me waiting.
“I’m glad you dropped by” he said. “I wanted to discuss your drugs.”
“What about ‘em?” I asked.
“I need an extra stash on top of my normal order” he said. “I have some friends coming for dinner next week. Any chance of an extra few ounces of your best?”
We sorted that out, and I promised to deliver in time, and of course I completely forgot what I had made the appointment for. It can’t have been that important anyway, as I still feel fine.
Herself had said she would wait for me in the pub, so I collected her and we headed on into Skobieville.
First of all, I returned our library books that we had borrowed for our trip to France last year. I had to do a quick dodge out the door before they realised that the books were a little overdue, but I’m good at that kind of thing. Then we headed on over to the hardware store. Herself wanted to look at showers. I left her looking at shower trays while I went off to get some stuff for the garden. When I got back, I discovered to my horror that she wants a toilet and hand basin as well. I don’t know why she wants an indoor toilet – I blame television. Anyway, she claimed to have found the perfect toilet pan, and said it was very comfortable. She brought me over to show me which one she wanted.
“You tried it out?” I asked, as I watched a little rivulet of amber liquid make its way to the edge of the display stand.
“I did” she replied. “It’s perfect.”
Much to her annoyance, I had to rush her out of the place of course, and we went back home.
We got in a little after six, so I switched on the News on the television. It was the usual advertisements, but soon Sharon came on the screen.
She looked straight at me and gave that lovely little quirky smile.
“Welcome back” she said.
I don’t know how she knew I was out, but she made the trip worthwhile.
Thank you, Sharon.
What town is Skobieville supposed to be?
Shower: lay floor tiles on concrete not cement.
My money is on Bray.
TT – Waddya mean “What town is Skobieville supposed to be”? Skobieville, of course. As for the floor, the floorboards stay. I may remove a few of the splinters though.
Becky – Nah! Bray is waaay north of here.
As someone once said “Women changed forever as soon they started putting windows above kitchen sinks”
I really like the way the screen scrolls down to the last comment. Very snazzy.
I mean the tiled base for your shower. Tell me you are not keeping the tub.
Holemaster – I couldn’t agree more. I never should have let her watch television either. Too late now, I suppose.
Holemaster – It’s a feature of the site. [*wonders what the fuck he’s talking about*]
TT – A base for the shower? What’s wrong with the floorboards? All I have to do is drill a couple of holes to let the water drain. The old tub is grand, hanging on the outside wall. Why wouldn’t I keep it?