(posted by Mr. D.)
SM1. Mindlessly awaiting my turn in the barbers, I recalled a queue-related incident which this medium makes it easier to share. You’ll understand. And your gender will determine your reaction…
Some years ago, my beloved was temporarily between two regimes of contraception and I was advised to ‘take precautions’.
So, a nostalgic pilgrimage to the chemists then, where a plethora of old ladies had swarmed, to get prescriptions filled, each discuss several ailments with the very patient pharmacist etc. In MY lunch hour.
Nearing the head of the queue, I resolved to avoid future wastes of my valuable time by buying more than the usual ‘packet of 3’. Hell, I could’ve got through 2 of them in the 10 minutes I’d been there!
And so, eventually arriving at the counter, I manfully demanded a box of Durex.
“What size?” asked the harridan assistant.
“I. Er. Um. I. Um. (pre-empting Gareth Gates by some years).
She let me sweat. Hours passed. Someone behind me muttered “C’mon big boy, I’m on me lunch hour”.
“What size box?”. “25, 50?”. As if there could have been any other answer!
“Oh, 25 is fine” I gushed. “please, take all of this money, and keep the change”.
I legged it. I still redden thinking about it.
(You’ll have to wait for SM2. Hey, I’ve gotta pace myself.)