04 April 2017
11 March 2017
10 January 2017
06 October 2016
I winced. "Think I have a bit of a sore throat coming on."
"Take a spoonful of honey mixed with cinnamon," Susan advised.
Grateful but unconvinced, I suggested a visit to my medicine chest, a box of pharmaceutical wonders which Susan had yet to glimpse.
"What on earth have you got in there?" She asked, peering in as I removed the lid to reveal a cornucopia of salves, balms and ungents, bottles, packets and tubes.
"I think I have Chloraseptic Spray. Yes, here it is," I announced, as I proudly withdrew the dark green bottle from its somewhat battered box. "Look, you pump the top and a jet of soothing goo drowns your tonsils." I demonstrated the procedure with a flourish.
"Give me that. Looks like it's old," Susan said. I handed it over with a degree of trepidation. She squinted at the small print and her eyebrows arched suddenly, always a cause for concern. "This says 2007!" She barked.
"But, but, but..."
"No buts. It's going in the bin right now!" I watched as she tossed the wondrous potion into my bin. I was crestfallen. Honey and cinnamon it would have to be.
"I'm all congested." Susan whimpered.
"Awww, poor you. I think I have some Dristan nasal spray. Hang on, I'll check. I could feel her eyes boring into the back of my head as I skipped to the bathroom. I returned with a smile carrying my medicine chest. No sooner had I located the squeezy bottle than she whipped it from my hand and began examining it.
"Geez Paul, 2004! Did they even make it back then?"
"But I've used it recently," I offered. "And it still works."
"I'm not squirting that ancient stuff up my nose, " She said, snorting loudly for emphasis. "And while we're about it, what else have you got lurking in there?"
"Errr, umm, nothing much." I hooked a defensive arm around the medicine chest. "Just some things." I avoided eye contact while s he stirred the contents and pulled out a small box, still sealed.
"Good Lord Paul, these eye drops are dated 2002!"
"Oh, that'll be ok," I said. "I'm sure they're fine. Please may I keep th..."
"And what the heck is this? And this? And this?" came the snapped response. Now she had her hand on her hip and was tapping her foot so I knew she meant business. "In the bin, all of it! And no dumpster-diving!"
I will have to find a new hiding place for my 1999 vintage eardrops.
16 September 2016
31 July 2016
6:30 and a glorious summer morning, perfect for an early grocery shopping expedition. There would be few people around; just how I like it. So I roused the girls and marched them, sleepy-eyed and stumbling, to the car.
"Aren't the roads lovely and quiet this morning girls," I remarked into the rear view mirror. (That's because it's Sunday, the little voice in my head affirmed.) "I love Sundays!" I said aloud. "I'll get my groceries in peace and quiet, far from humankind, and be home in time to watch the Formula 1 motor race from Germany."
I cruised along the deserted streets of Charlottetown, all the while patting myself on the back for my foresight until we swung into the Superstore parking lot. It was empty. The huge sign reminded me Sundays, 12:00 - 17:00. I muttered an internal Fuck!
"Sorry girls, for waking you so early. Right now I'm the only idiot in the whole of Canada driving with his shopping bags and shopping list to a closed store." There came no reply.
A little later as we rounded the corner by Ellen's Creek Maisie asked, "Daddy, what's the opposite of idiot?! "Genius," I asserted. One good thing is, I would definitely be home in time for the German Grand Prix. Yes, genius!
07 May 2016
When gardening, you can lose yourself in daydreams and it's easy to forget you are as naked as the day you were born. So when I switched off, and the deafening sound of silence descended, I was startled to see a row of grinning faces peering over my fence. I'm sure at least two had binoculars out and one was scribbling notes with a pencil, or was it a field sketch.
"That reminds me. Meat and two veg for dinner tonight," one remarked.
"Sausage for me!" cackled another. At that, I clutched 'Mr. Sniffles', acutely aware I was the only one marginally under-dressed (albeit impeccably manscaped).
The wail of a police siren; then a cruiser pulled up.
"Move along. Nothing to see here, folks," the cop observed.
Girding my loins, I galloped for my door calling out limply, "Forgive me, officer. It's all been a dreadful mistake."
Oh no! Did I get the day wrong?