|
MMIV
What does the year hold?
Huh?
I was on the way home, eggs in tow, to make an omelette.
Conditions were... clear.
I was on a roll, I'd been through the supermarket in a possible record time, ignoring the slight wait at the register for a somewhat slow old gentlemen who was having trouble keeping his pants up and the young girl actually manning the register who seemed to have some sort of tick wherein each item she passed through the little laser lights that beeped when a barcode successfully blipped through its' red little eye had to be touched to each side of the metal plate where normally she'd weigh bananas or other produce. Maybe she thought she needed to ground the items after exposing them to the lasers. Who knows?
But I'd flown down the aisles like some bat out of hell, only without chirping, which is how bats know their way around. I used the more conventional method of looking up at the signs hanging above every row: Hygiene, Cleaning Products, Toiletries, &c. Well, sort of.
You see, when I navigate a supermarket, more often than not, instead of stopping, looking up, and staring at the signs hanging above the rows and risking being run over while my eyes, which aren't as good as they used to be, try and focus in on that damn spidery font they use for all their signs, I usually scan the ends of the aisles, just inside the big pyramids of canned peas and palettes of soda, where I guess what's down the aisle by that first glimpse, the faintest hint of colours.
A deep, rich brown, shiny packaging and vivid green highlights lead me speeding down the coffee and tea aisle, past biscuits and other light things, down to the white rows of the dairy at the end, nestled in at the end of which were the eggs, all stacked neatly. They blended nicely with the white dairy section and then into the light brown meats, prepackaged and strewn about the bottom of the refrigerator where moms had been rummaging through like it was a sock drawer, for what would make up the week's lunches.
And then suddenly, there I was, almost having to decompress, at the register, watching the man in front of me alternate between trying to slide his supermarket saver card through the card reader at the other side of the laser barcode reader and hitch his pants up as they fell what he considered dangerously low.
I kind of idled. For me, I'd already done it, my record time.
When you make an omelette you expect to break a few eggs. Unless you're making one of those vegan omelettes. Then it's just the tofu that suffers. Always the tofu, in the end. Down at the very bottom of the food chain.
And when you run through the supermarket, you should also expect to break a few eggs. Which is why you should pick up some bread, as well, while you're at it, so you can always have toast, if things go wrong.
disclaimer:
We apologise for those on the mailing list (which is a weekly mailing telling you when the latest Sane Magazine is out, and which you can join by hitting the contacts page and selecting the Yes option underneath the relevant section), who got an early and very eerily similar mail to the one they received the week before. The employee responsible has been sacked.
And we finally got to see those little holes above the front door in use. You know, the ones used for burning oil.
The Sane Magazine crew was lucky enough to be guided around the sites of Corofin and Dysert, most notably Dysert O'Dea castle, by Clare girls in bikinis (and in 0° Celcius!) where they did very similar things with oil. In olden times. The Clare girls in bikinis (which the Co. Clare really has to get around to mentioning in more literature, they're sorely lacking references which we feel would bring a lot more tourism dollars to Clare, should they spend a minimal amount on colour photos, perhaps, in the brochures) did nothing with boiling oil. Thankfully.
None of this is the fault of the tourism officials in Clare, nor the O'Dea clan. Nor the cows, which stared down our intrepid crew at the site of one of the more photographed dolmens in Ireland in the middle of the Burren. Which we deemed quite photograph-able from a distance.
|
Yer Weekly Horoscopes.