Girl’s Routine, Interrputed

I was very much scone hunting this morning, as I like to do of a Wednesday, when I have to collect my social welfare payment at the post office.  The post office is within a shopping centre, allowing you to take your pennies and spend them unwisely all around you.  I stuck to my list, and bought my expensive bleach as per advice from Lilsister and Mammy, the toilet cleaning experts, who roared with laughter when I explained that my toilet was not sparkling, despite the semi-expensive bleach I have been using.  ‘You cretin,’ they screeched, ‘spend the extra forty cents and watch the toilet clean ITSELF.’

Bleach in hand, I had a quick look at the deli counter and discovered that my sandwich-relating husband search needs to be more discerning in its locations.  THIS particular deli was full of large haired ladies buying fish.

To the scone counter, where I was horrified to discover only fruit (I swore when I was a child I would never eat currants, and I am proud to say I stick to that) or – gasp! – BROWN ones!!!  There were no huge white ones covered in icing sugar.

Cursing at this enforced dieting, I took a brown one and came home, covered it with jam on one side and butter on the other, and inhaled it greedily.  It was sufficient, but not full of joy.

I feel a little empty.


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