Last Wednesday, Southland, the cavacade of wheelchairs and me riding trolley for my mother's shopping.
"Do I have money?" "Yes."
"Good, I'll have that lace cardigan and in all those colours."
And so it begins.....
Thursday, Southland, one trolley but half of it is taken up with cat items. Why does my shopping list now begin with 'Kitty litter' and the register read-out ends with me approaching bankruptcy.
Friday, cooking all the stuff I bought yesterday and fighting with the Electoral Commission again.
Saturday, down to the home away from home with new Electoral Roll papers. I have to go because I know I'll find two witnesses on Saturday. Get roped in to call Bingo. I forget it's not a race to the finish and I'm not calling the Melbourne Cup. Mother to the right of me telling me what to do, little old ladies to the left of me throwing down plastic tops on their bingo boards like the Titanic was sinking. Telling ma to shut up every two minutes in between numbers is giving them the best laugh they've had in days. The only thing livelier was the fly flitting around and that committed suicide in Gordy's coffee.
No, I'm not doing it again.
Sunday, pain is my friend. It stays my friend and it is still friendly with me. If it doesn't piss off by tomorrow, it'll be the doctor and a surgery full of lung fairies. I've got my own germs and I don't like to share unlike others who think it's their mission in life.
I hate being sick, it makes my hair turn grey and fall out. You'd think the way I'm built, (brick shouse comes to mind) it would make the fat fall off but not in my world. In the words of the great Arnie, "I'll be back!"