Zing

We was in the supermarket yesterday.

I noticed a female who happened to be dressed in a way that was not fitting for the supermarket, me thinks.

She was wearing a pair of black leggings that left nothing to the imagination, especially her nappy arse and camel toe.

She was wearing a pair of white patent stilettos, that really showed off her botched fake tan.

She was wearing a leather jacket that would have made any member of Bros cringe.

She had bleach blond hair with brown streaks that complimented her neglected black roots.

She had more face cake on than Jim Carrey in The Grinch.

She had more bright red lipstick on than a Grand Canal late night bank walker.

She couldn’t have been any older than 21.

We potted about and picked up random things, as you do in a supermarket.  Bread, butter, milk, cake, fizzy drinks, biscuits, chips and a diet book that we’ll decide at the checkout we can do without.

We happened to cross paths with yer one a few times.  She was pushing a full size trolley and the first time we passed her the only thing in it was a 12 pack of ribbed Durex.  She looked at me and I swear she nearly threw up.  Ego boost for me.  The next time we passed her she had the following in her trolley:

• A case of Miller
• A litre bottle of Smirnoff
• A bottle of cheap rum
• Three bottles of Blue Nun
• A bottle of Powers whiskey
• A six pack of Tennants lager cans
• A bottle of Buckfast (so that’s who buys it)
• The condoms from before

She spotted me again and looked me up and down.

We trundled off to the check out a few minutes later and found ourselves behind little miss.  As we loaded our basket on to the belt, she turned and looked at us again utterly disgusted and said, none too softly:

“Jaysis, that makes me sick”

Now, I’m not one to be confrontational or aggressive, as you well know dear reader, but I had to enquire:

“You have a problem?”

“Yeah, I do actually.  People like you”

“Excuse me?”

“Look at what you’re buying, all fat and carbs.  I bet you lie in bed all day and wonder why you’re so fat”

“I don’t actually but I wonder about people like you”

“What?”

“That check out lady is going to be a lot less surprised by the contents of your trolley than she will be about mine”

“Er”

“I’ll bet that booze just gives you the excuse that you didn’t know what you were doing when you’re at the doctor’s asking for another morning after pill and a cream to stop the burning when you take a piss…”

“Who…”

“The condoms are fooling nobody love, I mean you probably mean well but if we’re all being honest about what we think about total strangers I reckon that they’ll stay unopened in the box while you cry yourself to sleep on a constant wet patch…”

“I don’t…”

“I’m betting you have a couple of tattoos too, but none of them are functional.  Maybe the next one you get should be over your crusty minge that reads “Sperm bank”….”

“How dare…”

“At least that way it’d serve as a warning, or at least a second thought to the next poor soul who looks into your dead eyes and sees a past of a sweaty, heaving Uncle who put this whole charade into motion, don’t you think?”

“I….I….I….”

“Yeah, jog on”

And she did.

I had to help the stunned check out lady clear the conveyor belt of alcohol and johnnies after yer one had run out with her lip a trembling, but it was worth it.  And the check out lady told me it was too.  Apparently yer one comes in twice a week and insults other people all the time, but no one ever speaks back to her.

She caught me on a bad day.  On my bad days, my mouth seems to spout the things that my mind usually keeps locked up.  Pity about her.

Tomorrow I’ll be in a good mood again and I’ll just sigh to myself when a little old lady queue jumps me in the post office.

Ah well, can’t win them all.

The missus was none too impressed though.