All this nonsense about chocolate reminded of when my mother was banged up in the local nursing home. I did something which caused a variety of shocked/amused/incredulous/awestruck reactions amongst my friends and family.
“Good heavens, I didn't think that was possible.”
“My God, did you really?”
“Bloomin' heck woman, how did you manage that?”
“I've never heard of anyone else doing that.”
“You did what?”
No, I didn't win the lottery, fly to the moon or marry George Clooney. I suppose if I had married George Clooney it would've felt as though I'd won the lottery and flown to the moon! On the other hand , if I had really married George Clooney, with my damaged hearing and poor sight, I have no doubt that I would've woken up the following morning next to some fugly nerd and been told that I was actually now Mrs Looney! In the event I married no one, what I actually did was return some goods to 'Poundland' and demand my money back. That's right, the whole pound! My mother loved chocolate but had great difficulty with her eating and swallowing but Cadbury's chocolate buttons were ideal for her, nice and slim and she didn't have to chew them. Many an evening we'd be in her room doing a very good avian impersonation of a mother and chick, she with her eyes shut and her mouth open and me slipping chocolate buttons into her when she opened her mouth, just like a baby bird.The buttons cost £1.49 in our local Co-op but were only £1 in 'Poundland'. I bought 6 packets and when I got them to my mother's room and started to empty them into her 'button box' I noticed that the contents of 4 of the packets had each solidified and congealed into one frisbee-sized chocolate button. There was absolutely no way that I could shove one chocolate button the size of a small European republic into my poor frail mother's mouth without some drastic cosmetic surgical procedure to greatly enhance the size of her oral aperture being performed first. I couldn't be bothered to try and break up the Mega-sized chocolate buttons into manageable proportions so there was only one thing for it, they would have to be returned the next time I was in town. Hubs asked why I was bothered and he tried to reason that they were cheap so I should just throw them away. Needless to say this did not go down well and there was a sharp exchange of opinions as someone's obsession with glowing green gizmos, ( he had recently had a smart meter installed, hmpf!)i.e. not wasting our precious financial resources, on such mundane pleasures as showering, WITH hot water, watching Coronation Street and other assorted abominations of a fiscally misspent youth, was rammed down his throat. I did momentarily consider ramming one of the dinner plate-sized chocolate buttons down his throat but that would've been a waste of a £1 and I am Scottish when all is said and done, or when I've said all I wish to and am done! Back at 'Poundland' I produced my receipt and the offending purchases and explained my dilemma to the nice lady at the checkout. I didn't bore her with tales of my mother's inadequate mouth etc. I just got straight to the point. “THEY HAVE SOLIDIFIED AND I WISH TO BE REIMBURSED, PLEASE!”
“Ooh, never seen this before, have to call for a supervisor love.”
Whist I was waiting for the the important person to appear and deal with me I had the perfect chance to observe my fellow 'Poundland' customers. Well, one elderly gentleman caught my eye, he was wearing winkle picker shoes, a sort of pyjama outfit with a Nehru collar, a la the Beetles, a long flowing Moses style beard and he had a cross between a turban and some sort of Fez on his head. Whirling Dervish rather sprung to mind. Oh, I forgot, he was also sporting a rather natty dinner jacket. Strange as he was, his appearance was knocked into a cocked hat/turban/fez by his purchase. He was buying a scary face mask. I had to stop myself from telling him to save his 100 pence as he was frightening enough without it. He looked such a nice gentle gentleman that I assumed it was for his grandchildren but, it was just the one so perhaps it was for himself. Thank goodness I was spared any more ruminations of this kind as at that point the supervisor appeared in the shape of a Small Eastern European woman with a bad attitude. I decided that she was more than likely called Magda as this sounds rather dour, just like her. Whilst she was not unattractive I'm afraid she had the sort of po-face that can turn milk into yoghurt. If you were having a coffee with her it would be wise to only order black coffee. She looked me up and down, I could only look down at her, before enquiring,
“Ya?”
I duly explained my problem with the now over-sized buttons but again refrained from boring her also with descriptions of mother's under-sized mouth and her need of maxiofacial surgery. I could almost feel myself turning into a pot of yoghurt as she slowly drawled....
“Ees hota.”
Was I supposed to say something? I decided that I'd just out stare her and see where we ended up. I can compete with these foreigners and do a 'curdled milk' face just as well as them. Miserable Magda had another go at intimidating me, as if!!
“Da shop.......... ees too hota.............. da shocola................. eet melta!”
I suppose I was expected to say something like,
“Oh, gosh I'm sorry, of course, silly me, do forgive me, I'll run along home now with my big buttons and wedge them into my poor demented mother's small mouth, thank you and goodbye.”
Me being me, I burst into non stop teen talk and what I actually said was,
“And?”
I followed through with a rather nonchalant Gallic shrug, don't you just love Gallic shrugs, they go with everything. Moronic Magda and I were now locked into a sort of silent shoot out situation from 'High Noon'. Who would weaken first? I knew it wouldn't be me, I'm retired and have nothing else to do but irritate foreign shop assistants to fill my days whereas she is an important person in an up market retail outlet, she had other more important things to do like put price stickers on all the stock.....oh...perhaps not! Monotone Magda had yet to learn who was running this show, or as it had now become, farce, but she was a smart cookie though and soon worked out where she was in this contest of disinterested facial expressions, she was a poor second place. Without saying another word, or breaking eye contact with me, she opened the till, took out 4 pound coins and handed them to me. I then went across the road to the 99 pence shop and had a spend-up, 4 packets of Cadbury's chocolate buttons and I got change. One very happy Scottish bunny.
The following day I was in our local Co-op and guess what? They had Cadbury's buttons on sale for £1 per packet. Sometimes life is not a box of chocolates, or even a packet of buttons!
Love to all,
Ballerina x
“Good heavens, I didn't think that was possible.”
“My God, did you really?”
“Bloomin' heck woman, how did you manage that?”
“I've never heard of anyone else doing that.”
“You did what?”
No, I didn't win the lottery, fly to the moon or marry George Clooney. I suppose if I had married George Clooney it would've felt as though I'd won the lottery and flown to the moon! On the other hand , if I had really married George Clooney, with my damaged hearing and poor sight, I have no doubt that I would've woken up the following morning next to some fugly nerd and been told that I was actually now Mrs Looney! In the event I married no one, what I actually did was return some goods to 'Poundland' and demand my money back. That's right, the whole pound! My mother loved chocolate but had great difficulty with her eating and swallowing but Cadbury's chocolate buttons were ideal for her, nice and slim and she didn't have to chew them. Many an evening we'd be in her room doing a very good avian impersonation of a mother and chick, she with her eyes shut and her mouth open and me slipping chocolate buttons into her when she opened her mouth, just like a baby bird.The buttons cost £1.49 in our local Co-op but were only £1 in 'Poundland'. I bought 6 packets and when I got them to my mother's room and started to empty them into her 'button box' I noticed that the contents of 4 of the packets had each solidified and congealed into one frisbee-sized chocolate button. There was absolutely no way that I could shove one chocolate button the size of a small European republic into my poor frail mother's mouth without some drastic cosmetic surgical procedure to greatly enhance the size of her oral aperture being performed first. I couldn't be bothered to try and break up the Mega-sized chocolate buttons into manageable proportions so there was only one thing for it, they would have to be returned the next time I was in town. Hubs asked why I was bothered and he tried to reason that they were cheap so I should just throw them away. Needless to say this did not go down well and there was a sharp exchange of opinions as someone's obsession with glowing green gizmos, ( he had recently had a smart meter installed, hmpf!)i.e. not wasting our precious financial resources, on such mundane pleasures as showering, WITH hot water, watching Coronation Street and other assorted abominations of a fiscally misspent youth, was rammed down his throat. I did momentarily consider ramming one of the dinner plate-sized chocolate buttons down his throat but that would've been a waste of a £1 and I am Scottish when all is said and done, or when I've said all I wish to and am done! Back at 'Poundland' I produced my receipt and the offending purchases and explained my dilemma to the nice lady at the checkout. I didn't bore her with tales of my mother's inadequate mouth etc. I just got straight to the point. “THEY HAVE SOLIDIFIED AND I WISH TO BE REIMBURSED, PLEASE!”
“Ooh, never seen this before, have to call for a supervisor love.”
Whist I was waiting for the the important person to appear and deal with me I had the perfect chance to observe my fellow 'Poundland' customers. Well, one elderly gentleman caught my eye, he was wearing winkle picker shoes, a sort of pyjama outfit with a Nehru collar, a la the Beetles, a long flowing Moses style beard and he had a cross between a turban and some sort of Fez on his head. Whirling Dervish rather sprung to mind. Oh, I forgot, he was also sporting a rather natty dinner jacket. Strange as he was, his appearance was knocked into a cocked hat/turban/fez by his purchase. He was buying a scary face mask. I had to stop myself from telling him to save his 100 pence as he was frightening enough without it. He looked such a nice gentle gentleman that I assumed it was for his grandchildren but, it was just the one so perhaps it was for himself. Thank goodness I was spared any more ruminations of this kind as at that point the supervisor appeared in the shape of a Small Eastern European woman with a bad attitude. I decided that she was more than likely called Magda as this sounds rather dour, just like her. Whilst she was not unattractive I'm afraid she had the sort of po-face that can turn milk into yoghurt. If you were having a coffee with her it would be wise to only order black coffee. She looked me up and down, I could only look down at her, before enquiring,
“Ya?”
I duly explained my problem with the now over-sized buttons but again refrained from boring her also with descriptions of mother's under-sized mouth and her need of maxiofacial surgery. I could almost feel myself turning into a pot of yoghurt as she slowly drawled....
“Ees hota.”
Was I supposed to say something? I decided that I'd just out stare her and see where we ended up. I can compete with these foreigners and do a 'curdled milk' face just as well as them. Miserable Magda had another go at intimidating me, as if!!
“Da shop.......... ees too hota.............. da shocola................. eet melta!”
I suppose I was expected to say something like,
“Oh, gosh I'm sorry, of course, silly me, do forgive me, I'll run along home now with my big buttons and wedge them into my poor demented mother's small mouth, thank you and goodbye.”
Me being me, I burst into non stop teen talk and what I actually said was,
“And?”
I followed through with a rather nonchalant Gallic shrug, don't you just love Gallic shrugs, they go with everything. Moronic Magda and I were now locked into a sort of silent shoot out situation from 'High Noon'. Who would weaken first? I knew it wouldn't be me, I'm retired and have nothing else to do but irritate foreign shop assistants to fill my days whereas she is an important person in an up market retail outlet, she had other more important things to do like put price stickers on all the stock.....oh...perhaps not! Monotone Magda had yet to learn who was running this show, or as it had now become, farce, but she was a smart cookie though and soon worked out where she was in this contest of disinterested facial expressions, she was a poor second place. Without saying another word, or breaking eye contact with me, she opened the till, took out 4 pound coins and handed them to me. I then went across the road to the 99 pence shop and had a spend-up, 4 packets of Cadbury's chocolate buttons and I got change. One very happy Scottish bunny.
The following day I was in our local Co-op and guess what? They had Cadbury's buttons on sale for £1 per packet. Sometimes life is not a box of chocolates, or even a packet of buttons!
Love to all,
Ballerina x
Poor Magda that's all I can say. 
