2735. Love is in the air

You’d think that a simple thing like dropping your child off at a day care centre would be a simple thing. Well, it used to be. That was until I started talking to another parent each day. Natalie was her name. She was a solo mother with a daughter the same age as my son. I was a widower. My wife had died not long after Rory was born.

I found myself dropping off Rory each day at the exact time I knew that Natalie was dropping off her child. She worked for the City Council; some sort of secretarial job. I was self-employed. I researched genealogical documents for people who wanted to know their family tree but didn’t have the knowhow to do it themselves. They paid well too!

 Natalie’s hours were flexible, as were mine. It didn’t matter if we dawdled a little when we dropped off our children. Eventually I asked her if she would like to go to lunch and she said “Yes”.

It was the start of something. That was sixteen years ago. My goodness me! What a two-timing double-crossing, selfish, catty, mean, sour hussy her daughter has turned out to be. I can’t wait for her to pack up and leave home. Of course I would never tell Natalie that. She’d go into revenge mode and I couldn’t guarantee my future would be safe. I mean, I’ve always suspected that a couple of years ago she was the one who poisoned Rory.

2381. Something in the eye

What will the Chinese come up with next? The raw meat market in Wuhan saw a mutation in toad flesh. An edict went out: Do not eat raw toad flesh unless you are planning to travel overseas. Too late! Too late! The virus spread.

Here was a highly contagious virus that attacked the tear ducts in the eyes. The Government issued a decree: All supermarket shoppers must wear a bandana over their eyes. This not only protects the wearer from air-floating globules, but also slows down the transmission of the disease. Who would want to go blind? It is much healthier to feel your way around the supermarket.

When shopping, the meat section was particularly hazardous. Chicken breasts feel remarkably like pork schnitzels if one is not used to it – much to the feigned chagrin of Ms Maisie Cornblatt who happened to be in the meat department at the time Mr. Cranville Picklesen was feeling his selection.

The fruit department was another challenge for Mr. Cranville Picklesen. All he wanted were two apples, but he wasn’t sure if what he was feeling were apples or pomegranates. Ms Maisie Cornblatt, who by now had also come to the fruit and vegetable section, was pretty sure she knew what was what, but she couldn’t help out as she was having too much trouble trying to locate a cucumber.

Next, Mr. Cranville Picklesen went to the aisle with spreads. So did Ms Maisie Cornblatt. Clearly they had similar tastes. “It’s very difficult to know if one is picking up a jar of honey, of peanut butter, or of strawberry jam,” said Mr. Cranville Picklesen to Mrs. Lily Brown. “Oops! Yoo-hoo! I’m over here,” called out Ms Maisie Cornblatt. “I’m in the pink dress with the matching bandana. Not that anyone can notice.”

Cranville groped his way towards Maisie’s voice. “Honey!” said Ms Maisie Cornblatt.

“Is that a honey pot you have found or a term of endearment?” asked Mr. Cranville Picklesen. “The only way to test what you’re buying is to take the lids off the jars and use your fingers.”

Maisie accidentally put her fingers into a jar of vegemite thinking it could be orange marmalade. Yuk! That was when their bandanas accidentally fell off.

Mr. Cranville Picklesen and Ms Maisie Cornblatt laid eyes on one another.

2356. My Valentine

Look, I don’t believe in Valentine’s Day. It’s yet another thing invented by sales people to make a buck or two. Those who sell chocolates and roses and cards must be making a packet. They’re swimming in dough. So for that reason I don’t support such superficial observances.

My friend, Sandra, commemorates Valentine’s Day. Her boyfriend always sends her a dozen roses; although he never lets on that it’s him, but we all know it’s him that sends them. Sandra is always over the moon and goes sloppy and it’s pathetic to see her go on and on about love and nonsense. She’s like a wet dishcloth when it comes to love – all a bit slimy and yucky. I’m not surprised she would commemorate something as phoney as Valentine’s. I’m not into bogus things like that.

This is the second year that no one has sent me flowers.

2348. A meeting of meats

Of course it was extremely unlikely that unattached Heather and unattached Colin would accidentally bump into each other in the meat section of their local grocery store. An accidental meeting (and ensuing blossoming romance) has to be ruled out because Heather went for the more deli-type meats such as salamis and stuffed quail, whereas Colin went for “proper meat” such as beef, lamb, and pork. Proper meat was what a real man devoured. In fact, Colin detested “all this foreign crap” that had invaded the meat shelves in recent years. The deli-meat section and the proper-meat section were at either ends of the aisle. They couldn’t possibly meet.

But Heather and Colin met in the confectionary section of the store. Both had a sweet tooth. On the first time they bumped into each other they chatted for thirty-five minutes surrounded by chocolates and toffees.

These days (several weeks later) Colin shops for Madrange Jambon de Paris Ham, Smoked Goose, and Cured Acorn Fed Iberico Underloin.

I wouldn’t be surprised if a marriage proposal is in the air.

2293. Dance the night away

The music was slowing, the song was almost over, but we couldn’t stop dancing. And what a brilliant dancer he was! This was our first dance together and we clicked immediately.

Then came a second song! A second dance! Had heaven happened all at once? And then a third. And a fourth. If Vera Lynn was about she would have sung about a nightingale in Berkeley Square. If David Bowie was there he would have performed his entire Let’s Dance album. My heart was on fire!

Eventually we stopped dancing and he asked if I would like lemonade or something. So we sat on chairs at the side of the dance floor and enjoyed lemonade. The next thing this woman came up and said, “Okay dear, we’d better get going. We’ve only got the baby-sitter until 10.30.”

2282. Outside the bakery

Rupert had asked me over the phone to meet him outside the corner bakery so that’s where I went – and waited, and waited.

Eventually he turned up. Why on the street outside the bakery I have no idea.

He said he would risk all by saying what he was going to say and blurted out that he loved me and he couldn’t think of anything else other than me and he was besotted and beside himself with infatuation and so on and so forth. Would I be his friend and could we go out?

I told him to jump in the lake. He left, and since I was there I went into the bakery and bought some buns.

2229. A real man writes poetry

Only a real man writes poetry. At least that’s what Aunt Winifred told Nephew Hayes. Lesser men grovel around in prose, but a real man writes a poem.

Hayes had been dating Mabel for over a year now. He wasn’t an overly clever chap but he thought he might string together a line or two of poetry. Anything to impress Mabel. Anything to make her go weak at the knees.

Mabel’s such a pretty name
It makes the birdies sing,
But I can’t make it rhyme with anything.

Hayes screwed it up and dropped it on the floor.

You are my sunshine on a rainy day
You are a restful park bench on my way
You love me especially when I pay.

Again Hayes screwed it up and dropped it on the floor. There was getting to be quite a pile of paper there now. It was also getting to be late afternoon, and Hayes was getting depressed. He began to think he’d be better happily grovelling around in prose for the rest of his life.

A violet by any other name would smell as sweet
And you smell.

Hayes screwed it up and threw it on the floor. And then the doorbell rang. Hayes answered the door. There was an envelope. It was a message from Mabel:

It’s over.

2217. Wheels

Darryl’s sister, Molly, didn’t want to go for a ride on the Ferris wheel at the fair, so Darryl said he would go on his own. The man guiding people into the “buckets” asked Darryl if he minded sharing the double seat with a stranger, so he said he didn’t mind. A young woman sat down. Her name was Connie.

Around and around the Ferris wheel went! Up then down! Up then… It stopped just as Darryl and Connie’s “bucket” reached the apex. That was fine.  Clearly they were loading new participants aboard. But they weren’t. The Ferris wheel had broken down. They were stuck.

Eventually they were rescued.

Ferris wheels have improved since then. That was years ago. Today Darryl’s sister, Molly, is popping around to help Connie and Darryl move into a retirement village.

2183. Broken coffee maker

When Irene’s coffee making machine broke down she could have cried. In fact, she did. After all these years it was one of the few things left that she and her husband, Dalton, had purchased together. They had been married for forty-one years, and then he died of chronic heart disease. One by one the things they had shared together broke or got dismantled. The worst example was the passing of their cat, Topsy. Now it was the coffee machine.

With sadness Irene tossed it in the trash. But she kept the jug that was part of it. What she would do with it she had no idea. From now on it would be instant coffee in the morning. Who can afford a new coffee machine when on the pension?

She did however take herself off to the second hand shop. Sometimes one stumbled across a bargain. And there it was! An almost new coffee maker! It was a different brand from her previous one. It was well within her budget. She bought it instantly. The man looking after the shop, his name was Taylor, said he’d thought about buying it himself. His coffee machine at home had a broken jug.

Irene had the perfect solution! Her jug was the perfect match! She would drop it off at his home.

That was a few months ago. They now have two coffee makers in the kitchen.

2056. Creamed corn

Andrew was not a great fan of creamed corn. He found it too sweet. He didn’t mind shucking the corn and de-kernelling it. Then it was the simplest thing for his mother to make. But as for eating it… Goodness! Andrew thought it would be easier to eat a bowl of raw sugar.

His mother served the creamed corn as a side dish and Andrew had a spoonful to be polite because his mother had gone to a bit of trouble, both in growing the corn in the garden in the first place and cooking the creamed corn.  But sweet! Andrew always felt a bit sick.

Sometimes his mother would make corn fritters with the creamed corn and sometimes she would bake a dish of it with grated cheese on the top. She was so proud of her corn in the corn season and corn was served one way or another at almost every meal.

Things got so bad that Andrew began to wonder if he hadn’t developed an allergy. When he had a date with Angelina he would pass on mother’s corn before going out. He was very much in love with Angelina. He knew she was to be the one for life! He didn’t want to spew his mother’s corn all over the seat of the car. Tonight Angelina had invited Andrew for the evening meal. She wanted to show off her culinary skills! And guess what they had?

“The secret of making irresistible cream corn,” said Angelina upon enthusiastically placing dinner on the table, “the secret is to put several heaped spoonfuls of sugar in the mixture. It makes it much much sweeter.”

Angelina’s creamed corn was ten times sweeter and sicklier than Andrew’s mother made. Andrew loved it. In fact he had a second helping.