Commentary on the Shopping Trip.

You know how you can tell the difference between a casual glance in your direction and a pointed stare? Well, in Ashbourne today, five different women pointedly stared at me. Why did they do that? I don’t know. One went so far as to smile as though she knew me, while a second did a double take (that was the worrying one.) The other three simply did a ‘what the hell is it?’ stare. I consulted my reflection in a shop window, but could see nothing unusual or amiss. Presumably, the five women could. Hey, ho.

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I went into the health food shop, swallowed hard and bought the Ashwagandha. I explained to the two women assistants that I was concerned about the possible libidinous complications, and agreed to buy the stuff in return for their undertaking to appear as witnesses for the defence should any legal proceedings be precipitated. They smiled, which I took as concurrence.

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Then I went to the DIY and Garden Centre to get a plant for an empty spot in my garden. The shop is on a small, modern retail park where all the doors are electric. The first one opened as I approached; the second one opened as I approached; the barrier gates opened as I approached. I didn’t have to check my stride one iota, and it was then that I became consumed with irritation. I very nearly yelled at the gates: ‘Will you please stop being so bloody servile!’

Where was the voice message that says ‘I’m so glad to have been of service to you, and I really, really hope you enjoy your shopping. If anything should cause you the least irritation, please feel free to kick me.’ Why don’t they have a big dummy standing there that tugs its forelock and bows as you walk past? I hate that sort of thing. I do.

I didn’t yell. I held myself back. Maybe next time, when I’m even madder than I am already.