Conversation Stopper.
'You know,' said the Paramour loudly as he pushed the trolley laden with groceries towards the car, 'I have an EXCEPTIONALLY itchy anus.'
I turned to him to say... something, and noticed the woman directly behind him drop her jaw and stare.
'Thank you for sharing that Parmour' I said. 'With me and the lady behind you.'
But he just laughed.
He doesn't care, but I know that shocked women will doubtless say to her mother or husband later today, 'You'll never guess what I heard some man tell his lady today...'
I turned to him to say... something, and noticed the woman directly behind him drop her jaw and stare.
'Thank you for sharing that Parmour' I said. 'With me and the lady behind you.'
But he just laughed.
He doesn't care, but I know that shocked women will doubtless say to her mother or husband later today, 'You'll never guess what I heard some man tell his lady today...'
Labels: a problem shared...
posted by fatmammycat at 2:20 p.m.
32 Comments:
This just cheered me right up.
Especially the 'exceptionally'.
A case of a good chilli and not enough beer? Nothing an ice cube wouldn't sort out, pronto!
That wouldn't embarrass me. I would have said "what the fuck are you looking at?"
But then I've been feeling like a mega bitch lately.
Hah! As if I didn't already have enough reason to like the paramour...he's a keeper!
I just laughed, you can't really do much more to a line like that.
The expression on her face was priceless though.
Truly, the mystery has faded.
For you AND the woman :)
And Medbh, I'd say she was looking at the man in Tesco shouting about his anus. Come on. You don't get that every day.
Petrol for the car to bring you shopping 1.30
green peppers 2.00
The look on the womans face when you say that you have an itchy fundulum....priceless.
True, Joe, but I'd still call her on being a nosey bitch.
I wish I would have just told my sister ANYTHING about my or anybody elses anuses. Anything but..
3 hours on skype.
I told her how I felt.
Oh, I will have to get more drunk now than I have ever been in my life.
Please - anybody - tell me something outrageous.
Sisters... meh.
Yikes Eva! Was it 'oh I really do love you you know' or ' I've always hated you you know' type of stuff'. Three hours, dang. That's a whole lotta talking.
If I heard such a complaint in the supermarket I'd direct the sufferer to aisle 7, the bum-cream aisle.
Ah yes, the bum-cream aisle. They should make that bigger....
I typed 'isle' first, which threw me into a misty little moment of contemplation.
"I'll have to remember not to plant the cucumbers next to the poison ivy then"
hehe, I'd like to go to the bum-cream isle.
You live in the bum cream aisle.
tremendous.......life on the edge......
The misty Isle of Bumcream is a beautiful spot, Morgor but it's full of assholes.
Blokes have no sense of embarrassment.
Medically proven fact.
"The misty Isle of Bumcream"
...oh it sounds like such a magical place....
Btw he sister thing sorted itself out, phew (but sometimes is such a relief to live in a different country than your family)
The misty Isle of Bumcream is a beautiful spot, Morgor but it's full of assholes
A shitty class of clientelle alright.
The bum cream aisle has reminded me of a story my cousin told me about a friend of her's - who was living in London at the time.
This woman had a young child who basically didn't talk ( I assumed from the conversation that child was three-ish). No one knew why - child of a doctor and a dentist, normal in every other respect.
Anyway, one day woman and child were in Boots. Things were being processed by check-out person. A deep voice was heard from beneath counter as a tube of cream went across counter - 'that's for Mummy's sore bottom, it's called thrush.'
FIRST WORDS UTTERED.EVER.
I think they put the no talking down to the child having the deep voice. How I love that story.
"The misty Isle of Bumcream"
Sounds like the start of a Seamus Heaney poem...
Nope, more like Yeats.
I will arise and go now,
and go and scratch my hole'
Oh misty isles and craggy rocks of Bumcream, where white talc peaks tower over lush valleys and swampy vales. Sniff, not the fog, the miasma of fetid, nor linger near her treacherous caves. Oh Bumcream isle, will ye never change.
'The Isle of Soothing Cream'
by Itchy B Yeats
I will arise and go now
to the isle of Soothing Cream
An icecube I will freeze there,
and cooling bath prepare
Nine tubes of Preparation H will I have there, and latex gloves for me
Ad scratch alone with my arse quite bare.
Sniff, that was beautiful Jo, and I really hate poetry normally.
Well, it's important to have a moving subject.
Never a more pungent word was spoken.
Well, it's important to have a moving subject.
It would make application of the cream more difficult but there are those that thrive on challenges.
I hear it's a Greek sport, soon to be awarded Olympic status.
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