My male staff's dad has one of those wheelie-walker things which he pushes around in front of him. My male staff says it's because he can't walk very well these days. Frankly I think he'd walk a whole lot better if he didn't have to push his stupid wheelie-walker around all the time. For a start it takes him fifteen minutes to cross even the smallest of roads. Radio stations in our area have started including his whereabouts in their traffic updates. It's quite embarrassing. The day after he arrived here from England my male staff's dad pushed his wheelie-walker into our local pharmacy shop. (My male staff needed to buy some pills for his lunacy I think. Don't know why he bothers, they're obviously not working.) Immediately the shop staff surrounded him and were fawning over the wheelie-walker as if it was a Ferarri or something.
They walked all around it, admiring its British racing green paint work, the brakes, the padded seat and the little leather bag on the front in which Badger and I sat chewing on pieces of corn husk. The shop ladies ooh-ed and aah-ed and goo-ed and gah-ed until one of them decided to lift the lid on our bag. The bush chocolate really hit the fan. What is it about many human females that makes them scream when they see something small and furry? How are small furry things a threat to them? Anyway, this woman threw her arms in the air in horror at the sight of two sets of beady eyes peering at her from my male staff's dad's wheelie-walker bag. Both Badger and I stopped chewing our husks and gawped at the screaming woman.
Unfortunately Badger is quite a nervous soul, so he decided to bale out and sprint for the nearest cover, which happened to be a under a large display of condoms. Meanwhile the woman who had screamed and thrown her arm in the air had (accidentally I think) hit my male staff's nose with her elbow. This caused an impressive fountain of blood to spurt from his nostrils, no doubt made more impressive by the blood thinning Warfarin tablets he's taking for his blood clots. He clutched his leaking nose with both hands and exclaimed what sounded like "Ow! Duck Knee!" It was hard to tell though with his hands covering his face and blood squirting through his fingers. And why he would suddenly develop an interest in the leg joints of waterfowl I don't know, but then many things my male staff does are beyond my understanding.
It was just then that Her Majesty the Pharmacist decended from her throne high above the shelves filled with throat lozenges and head-ache tablets and raced over to see what all the fuss was about. Almost immediately she wished she hadn't because she slipped in a pool of my male staff's blood and skidded headlong into the condom display, collapsing the entire thing on top of Badger. "Dadger!" Cried my male staff through a squashed nose and blood soaked fingers. Her Majesty the Pharmacist was sprawled on the floor, legs akimbo and half buried by cartons of plain and flavoured condoms. It wasn't her most dignified moment. My male staff shoved her out of the way and started digging through the condoms like a frantic earthquake rescuer, tossing boxes of chocolate and banana flavoured condoms hither and thither and calling out "Dadger! Dadger!" Ever more urgently, and then asking Her Majesty the Pharacist to stop crying so that he could listen for Badger.
At long last Badger was finally uncovered and gave everyone his best death stare as the last box of prophyactics was removed. Holding his nose with one hand my male staff scooped him up and put him back in the wheelie-walker bag with me and hurridly ushered his dad from the shop, leaving Her Majesty the Pharmacist to extract the remaining packets of condoms from up her skirt and restack the display. As my male staff's dad pushed us down the street towards the doctors surgery, Badger confided in me that he had had a chew of several packets of condoms and that the plain, chocolate and strawberry ones were very ordinary, but that he thoroughly enjoyed the banana ones once his teeth had penetrated the carpboard box, the foil wrapping and the funny rubbery stuff inside. Amazing isn't it? Who'd have thought that my male staff's dad's wheelie-walker could be responsible for a population explosion in a little town like ours?
Next time I'm asked it I want to go to the shops I think I'll stay at home and polish my nails.