Friday, May 18, 2012

I forgot to not be a Bogan.






Click image for source.


During the week I was busy doing whatever crappy homogeneous obligation was required that morning and watching someone in Britain say "planning permission" and something about wallpaper on the Lifestyle Channel.

By mid morning I was wandering around my house gazing thoughtfully and critically at the space.
It always happens when I watch the lifestyle channel, or read home improvement mags in which I subscribe to every.freaking. One.
I'm I'll. It's a sickness.

Mr emmasbrain breaks out in hives when I start thoughtfully wandering, for fear that

(A)He will in all likelihood be forking out in the immediate future
(B)He will be driving to Mitre 10 when the motorsport is on
(C)He may have to paint/sand/saw/dig something OR
(D All of the above.

So I try to do all of my thoughtful and critical wandering at the more considerable time of when he is at work, thus saving him the angst and giving him far less forewarning to think of a practical reason that we shouldn't do it.

Anyway, I was writing a Mitre10 shopping list that so far consisted of chalkboard paint and did a little bit of online shopping in the form of Wallpaper (Damn you lifestyle channel) when the phone rang, it was the school of Mr Teen informing me that he had had an unfortunate dodgeball related finger injury and could I come and collect him.

I left straight away and in my haste I left my purse next to the computer, which.. You know, is not really a major disaster, because the school is only a five minute drive away, only I decided to be mum of the year and call into Maccas on the way home, and use the drive through.

I placed my order then drove around to the next window to pay, only my purse was at home, next to the picture of the wallpaper I had just bought.
I had one of those movie moments when my mind cuts back to see my purse... Sitting there, alone.

I had a fruitless scrounge around for change in every orifice of my car, and quickly decided against cramming all of the coins down on the window sill and asking what I could get for these monies à La primary school canteen and had no choice but to explain that I had left my purse at home.

Thankfully, the pay window lady understood so My car then tucked its muffler between it's wheels and slinked straight passed the collect window.

Mr Teen sunk as low as he could in his seat and pushed his hat over his face lest he be seen with the crazy woman who made bogus drive through orders, whilst Ms three Began her incredibly high pitched protests about forgetting the food.

If it were up to Me and the Teen, I just would have driven away into the sunset never ever to return and My ass would thank me... But if you have ever told a toddler that they could have a treat and then driven and ordered the treat and sat in the queue whilst said toddler stares at the brightly coloured pictures of the treat ... Waiting, you will understand that I just had to go back.

So home I went to get my forgotten purse and drove around ordered again, actually paid this time and went home, and thanked my lucky stars that I didn't call in to get petrol first as I had planned and Mr Teens finger was miraculously healed, going from not able to hold a pencil, to completely cured when I suggested that he would certainly be unable to navigate a game controller if his finger was so very damaged.
Hallelujah.

The End

Emma.

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