Breaking news

"I don't know how some people can be so effortlessly elegant," Friend comments as she brushes crumbs off herself.

"Yeah, totally." I start picking crumbs off myself too.

"They have such poise, such manners... and they know exactly which utensils to use." Friend looks pointedly at me while I pick my croissant up, ignoring fork and knife.

(My hazy impression of that very early Friday morning breakfast conversation. And I've kindly left Friend anonymous.)

.................................................

The bus-stop outside my house is right next to a semi-d, which houses one very big (and cute!) retriever (I'd say golden, but actually it looks off-white).

The reason I know this (despite the non-transparent fence that circles the semi-d) is because I regularly peer under fences (and toilet doors and skirts), and therefore spied four hairy (canine) legs. And because I like to fancy myself a FOD (friend of dogs), I always cluck away at it. It usually responds by lying flat on the ground next to the fence, and sticking its snout out at me, which is about all it can manage, given the fence. And I get to peer into the sad soulful eyes of a wolf-at-heart who would love to pounce on irritating-human-who-sounds (and probably tastes)-like-chicken and rip out my throat if not for this... darn... fence...

...............................................

At this same bus-stop yesterday, a School Bus made a slow and stately stop, and regurgitated a Small Boy.

This particular specimen of Small Boy must be privy to some Small Boy ritual that I'm ignorant of, cos I got quite a scare when he screamed 'TOILET PAPER' at the School Bus. And from within the cavernous depths of the School Bus came a 'TOILET PAPER' that was dripping with contempt and sounded very much like a kid-sized (but very heavy) gauntlet slapping the floor. Or a dirty martini cascading over coiffured hair and 1 inch of cosmetics in public.

A great fury rose from within the innermost core of our Small Boy, and behold! he shook with righteous indignation, a pale flush staining his lily cheeks. From that same innermost core (it's a big one, so it can hold things like 'great furies' and large amounts of half-digested candy), and with Herculean Effort, our Small Boy expelled a last 'TOILET PAPER!!!!!!' at the departing bus, a war-cry that seemed to vibrate through the whole of his defiant, youthful (if somewhat vertically challenged) being.

And then the enemy fled to fight another day, and pursuit was hopeless, and the battle over, and the toilet flushed, and the sun set upon the wealth of the earth, and the moon rose like a queen to her throne (and so on), so he allowed his maid to help him with his armour-disguised-as-school-bag, and made his weary way home.

.......................................................

One note to readers, this is a frivolous blog. It's pink. Therefore posts are not to be taken seriously. Therefore if I say that I'd like to pull someone's fingernails out and insert them in a painful manner under that same person's toenails before hanging said person from a cactus by his entrails, this means I might have made detailed plans. But that's all.

So when I say 'breaking news', it probably means 'nothing important'.