Fed Zeppelin

The supermarket last night was manic, with last minute Christmas shoppers packing their trollies tight like a hungry alcoholic competition winner on a supermarket dash.

I was regrettably in there because we had run out of alcohol in the house and that’s a sin at any time of the year, let alone Christmas.

After negotiating the badly driven trollies and turkey laden imbeciles with no sense of direction or intelligence, I loaded up my trolley and slalomed my way through the festive fuckwits to the checkouts.

After queuing for an eternity behind knuckle draggers and bickering couples, I finally reached the checkout.  I began loading my meagre purchases onto the belt and awaited my “sorry to keep you waiting, would you like some bags?” from the friendly checkout girl.

No, its OK, I’ll just kick my stuff all the way to the car.

Probably not the best approach as these guys were swamped with Chrismassy cretins and their sanity was hanging by a thread.

As I was stood there being thankful that ASDA didn’t sell firearms, I couldn’t help but watch the two women behind me unloading their shopping onto the belt behind mine (and yes, this time there was a divider). They were both rather large ladies, one considerably larger than the other. A lot larger.

I shall call her Zeppelina.

They were placing item after item after item after item onto the checkout which had started creaking under the weight, and I began to wonder if this was their Christmas shop or ‘just the weekly’.

Anyway, after about 5 minutes Zeppelina pulled out an empty chocolate wrapper from their trolley and gave her friend a smile that said, ‘oops, what am I like?’.

A pig?

Zeppelina used this moment to take a breather from the exhaustive nature of what she was doing (as some of those cakes looked quite heavy), and once she’d caught her breath and stopped wheezing she handed the wrapper to her friend and said, “we’ll need to explain that”.

No she won’t.

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A rosy outlook on life

Earlier today one of the lovely ladies on reception at work offered me a small chocolate chip from her bag of granola. 

Being on a diet (of sorts), I declined. 

At this point she paused for a second, held it closer to me and said in the most serious face she could muster, “actually it’s a rabbit poo”.

This immediately caused me to grin and I replied with, “well in that case, I’ll have one.  I prefer rabbit poo anyway as they’re more nutritious and full of fibre”.

The other lady on reception looked at me in disbelief; mouth open and nose wrinkled.

“Why are you like that?” she asked, slightly bemused.

“Like what?” I asked innocently, knowing what she meant.

“Like that; saying you’d rather eat rabbit poo”.

“Because”, I replied, “it’s funny”

What’s even funnier is the fact that I know she’s reading through my blog today.

rabbitpoodog