Here’s a little thing I’ve been writing.
It’s called Don’t and Delight.
One cautionary tale and one cheery one, rolled up into one post …
Let’s do this! Let’s start with the ‘worst’ first and end on a high note.
Don’t – Coughing in the supermarket
You are not allowed to cough in the supermarket anymore.
And honestly? It’s a good thing. It’s a good thing if you are NOT me. If you ARE me it’s a bad thing.
Don’t get me wrong. I certainly don’t make a habit of coughing the supermarket. Nu-uh.
Except these days I do. I can’t seem to help it.
There are two particular places I cough when I’m wandering the aisles trying to convince myself that tissues ARE the best choice for my nether regions.
The first place is in the freezer aisle. (I cough into my elbow.)
The second place is in the cleaning aisle. (I cough into my other elbow.)
I can’t seem to stop doing it. It’s like I see frozen peas or a packet of Chux and all bets are off. I cough.
At first I thought it was just my own weirdness. I mean, I am a fairly cough-y type.
But then yesterday I was OFF THE CHAIN. I started coughing and coughing at the end of the aisle with the chips and the milk.
I was coughing so excellently that people did angry eyes and veered away from me, pirouetting their trollies as though on Dancing With the Stars.
I do not blame them one bit.
I snatched a bottle of water from the shelf with my gloved hand as a man swerved past me running his back along the confectionary section in a bid to stay as far from me as possible.
At this point I was trying to look un-sick as I coughed into my shopping list (because I’d used up both elbows). I drank half the water and instantly stopped coughing. But not before I had cleared the aisle.
I then finished my shopping with my mouth firmly closed, sneaking little sips of air in through my nose so as not upset anyone.
When I got home, I thought about all this and I wondered if maybe they are using new super-powered disinfecting products and that’s what’s making me cough.
Perhaps part of the COVID-19 store cleaning process is to slosh virus-killing potions on everything?
Perhaps the remnants of that slosh get breathed in by everyone?
Perhaps I am …. allergic to the supermarket now?
Could it possibly be true?
(Or maybe I am just a cough-y person. That could be it too.)
PS: I did pay for the water.
Delight – My mum’s chatty t-shirts
When I was growing up, my mum used to wear very chatty t-shirts.
It was the late ’70s and the early ’80s and chatty t-shirts were a total thing. It wasn’t like now where t-shirts had every gosh darned idea ever known to woman printed on them. Back then if you had something on your t-shirt it really meant something.
One of my mum’s t-shirts said – I am a virgin. This is a very old t-shirt.
And then there was this map of Tasmania one which I do not remember but I know it exists because there is a photo. It’s likely that the caption on this one was equally sassy because it was important to be a bit free-love-ish back in the day.
Apparently part of throwing off the shackles of the patriarchy involved expressing your sassiness on as many t-shirts as possible. It was the beginning of the sex positive movement and my mum was a sort of sassy suffragette, it would appear.
She had other chatty things too. It wasn’t all about the t-shirts.
She had chatty hair, for instance. Sometimes in a sort of curved under bowl cut and everyone wanted to tell her she looked like Ita Buttrose. Sometimes it was in a white lady afro and she used a special comb to tidy it and I needed to talk to her about that comb and the comb itself spoke a chatty twang if you plucked it just so.
Mum also had chatty pants. Not in a sowing-your-wild-oats way, but more in an interesting way. A bit like – ‘Oh those are the flare-iest in the history of flares!’ or ‘Is that a woven, bejwelled, vinyl waist-band on your jeans?’ or ‘Shiny green lyrcra is my favourite too and you look very slippery and wonderful!”
(Several years after the chatty shiny lycra we watched a movie called So Fine starring Dudley Moore and I was glad that my mum had not been quite that expressive.)
Mum even had chatty shoes. Wooden clogs that started talking long before she had arrived in a room or vocal Dr Scholl’s that promised not only a clacky entrance but a health-promoting one too.
All that said, it’s her chatty shirts I love the most and I have been unwittingly following in her footsteps and collecting my own talkative tees.
I don’t need Google because my wife knows everything, my favourite explains.
This is what awesome looks like, another says.
Dad. The man, the myth, the legend, one reads.
Those burpees were fun said no one ever, the one I am wearing now points out.
Truth be told, I’m kinda wishing I had my mum’s huge Tassie t-shirt to add to my collection … but perhaps it’s a little too advanced for beginner tee me.
Kindness Counts t-shirt via Polished Print Co on Etsy
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