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Sunday, January 14, 2018

Three Excellent Things I Bought!

I’m back to work on Wednesday and there’s one particular thing I’m really dreading.

Six weeks of holiday has enabled my digestive system to develop into a lovely, rhythmic routine where at 8 o’clock sharp, every single day, I poop.

I will be arriving at work at exactly 8 am every day and this is not a happy prospect because we only have two toilets at work and people use them a lot and I don’t want anyone to know I’ve pooped the very second I’ve arrived at work.

On our travels to the shops today, I came across a product called, VIP Poo, which comes in all sorts of scents and you spray it in the toilet before you do your business and it magically masks all nasty smells by smothering the poo as soon as it hits the water.

Naturally, this mandates my wearing garments containing pockets to work at all times because God forbid someone should espy me entering the staff toilet clutching a bottle of VIP Poo in my trembling hands.

That would most probably give the game away.

In fact, I made Scotto pretend he was buying the VIP Poo for himself and that I had nothing to do with it, although I think the checkout guy suspected there was something afoot because of all the silly giggling when I took the photo.

It says on the bottle that it is highly dangerous to all aquatic animals.

More dangerous than poo? I highly doubt it.

Scotto and I had stopped at the shops to buy some pesticide because our front yard is infested with paper wasps.

One of them stung Scotto yesterday and I’ve been too terrified to go out and put rubbish in the wheelie bin in case a multitude of wasps swarm on me.

I suspect I’m allergic to them and I don’t want to die of anaphylactic shock, so I sent Scotto out (in his Hazmat suit) to annihilate the vicious creatures.

I sincerely believe that I am the wasp’s primary target because I noticed about twenty dead wasps splayed out on the passenger side window of Scotto’s car where they’d flown, kamikaze style, directly aiming at where I usually sit.

Another excellent thing I bought this week is my new car.

It's a Renault Clio RS which is a step up from the Suzuki Swift but I don’t pick it up until Tuesday.

I am trying to think of a name for it.

It’s a ranga, so I was thinking of calling it Ed Sheeran.

My son was quite disgusted that I’ve purchased a French car. Don’t ask me what he has against the French.

I reminded him that his eighth, great grandfather was a Monsieur De Venoix and that I am 19% French (according to my DNA) so of course I should have a French car and that he should mind his own Francophobic beeswax.

Mon Dieu, my children are overly bossy sometimes.

My new car has a reverse camera, automatic windshield wipers and lights, a front seat that heats up, a turbo thingy (not sure what that means), and three DIFFERENT modes of drive.

You can drive in ‘Normal’ mode, ‘Sports’ mode and ‘Outrrrrrraaaageous Frenchy’ mode.

I’ll just be driving in the ‘Normal’ mode, I think. At least until I practise a bit with the paddle shift gearbox and the launch control that is.

I’m a bit terrified to drive it to tell the truth. 

I was too scared to test drive it and made Scotto do it. 

I screamed loudly when he accelerated from 0 kms to 70 kms per hour in about three seconds and made him drive back to the dealership immediately, shouting at him the whole way about the thousand dollar excess if he pranged it.

One thing is certain. That is the first and last time Scotto will ever be allowed to drive it... bloody lead foot hoon.

So... what name do you think I should give my new car?