It has come to my attention that I might be a bit competitive.

I have two children, and I never let them win at games, because: character building. In fact the eldest just got his first pair of contact lenses, and we may be having competitions to see who can pop them in first. I have the very slight advantage of wearing contacts every day for the last twenty nine years. (But if you want to know, I am whipping that kid.)

Tonight I went to Coles, and I was doing that thing with a nubile young thing in tiny exercise shorts and taut brown skin. You know, when you pass each other in the middle of each aisle as you approach from opposite directions, because you are shopping at the same pace.

So I picked up my pace a little. “In your face, young thing”, I thought, as I prepared to intersect, not in the middle, but more up her end, near the salsa.

But she had mysteriously sped up too.

As soon as I got out of her eye-shot I hot-footed it around the bend only to find she was also moving quite swiftly. “I’ll show you, youthful one,” I sneered to myself, “I’ve been shopping a lot longer than you, and I already know which brands contain the dodgy numbers and which ones are the best value, I’ll sort you out once you have to stop and check where Greenseas catch their tuna. Or something.”

The thing was, as I picked up more and more speed, so did she. My old legs were beginning to tire. Hers were showing no signs of letting up. In fact, I think she was just coming into her stride. Faster and faster I went, grabbing any old stuff on the fly, filling the trolley with honey (I think we need some), toilet paper (we’re sure to need it someday) and eggs (we always need those little chicken menstruations to feed the ferals).

Finally, we had a little sprint at the end and arrived at the registers at the same time. I looked at her, she looked at me. I made the controversial decision: Self Scanning.

And you better believe I scanned those goodies like an Aldi checkout chick on cola. My biceps were bulging with the effort, my brachioradialis was burning with the speed. People were turning their heads, and staring in awe and disbelief. Or they were just looking around to see what all the grunting was about.

Finally, I escaped out of the refrigerated muzak box that is our local Coles, and into the freedom of the humid evening, basking, basking at my success. Shopping Superstar, 2014: Beating fit young chicks at the shops since 1991

I waltzed along in the afterglow of elation, secure in the knowledge that I may be ancient, but I can still pip the next generation at the post.

When suddenly, from behind me, there was a clash and a clatter of a trolley. And not any kind of trolley. I could tell by the cadence of the casters it was one of those svelte new mid-week shop specials, you know the ones with the wheels that actually turn and the smaller baskets? I turned my head as if in slow motion: my nemesis. She had a swift trolley, muscular legs and the eye of the tiger. I stepped up the pace as she caught up and passed me, racing to her car, which happened to be parked next to mine.

I pushed and pulled my dinosaur trolley as fast as my creaking articulations would allow, sweating now with the effort and keening internally at the anguish of being stripped of my prize.

We opened our car boots, me with an automatic push button thing, her with an old school key. We unpacked our trolleys bag for bag, hearts racing towards the goal. (Well mine was racing like I was about to have a coronary- her’s was probably beating at an even 68.)

Finally we were done, at almost the precise same moment. The moment of truth was upon us. To return the trolleys, or not?

I eyed off the distance. I questioned my ethics. And as I always do in these moments, I asked myself: What would my Dad* do? There really was nothing else for it. Trolley Return. I ran with the spirit of my deceased father spurring me on, I ran for all old ladies everywhere, I ran to prove that we are NOT old and irrelevant. I ran even though my shrivelled menopausal uterus was threatening to prolapse onto the asphalt. I ran for freedom. (Well, maybe not freedom. I may have been getting carried away. But I AM pretty sure Chariots of Fire was playing softly somewhere.)

I chanced a glance over my shoulder, only to see my competitor safely ensconced in her vehicle, trolley pushed haphazardly over near the planter boxes. SHE CHOSE NOT TO RETURN IT. As she slowly reversed her 1992 Fiesta into the traffic, she wound down her window (manually of course), and our eyes locked. Hers: bright and twinkling with victory, mine: rheumy and faded with defeat. She turned up her radio and the sound of some doof-doof-doof tune of success filled the night air.

I hung my head, with the shame of defeat and the heaviness of ethics bearing down on me. I shuffled back to my car, glancing at her abandoned trolley as I passed. In it, was a bag. I went over to inspect it, and, lo, she had neglected to unpack her final bag. It contained a few boring things, and then, the bounty:

Dairy Milk Bubbly, on special today for $2.

So I have some final words for you P-Plate-Princess, some pearls of wisdom from the older generation, something perhaps to enhance your life and make you a better person:

Suck Shit.    (To the victor goes the spoils.)

*AKA the most ethical man in the Universe.

Do you return your trolley?

…From The Ashers

*AKA the most ethical man in the Universe.

It’s been a big week, in that I have spent a fair amount of it procrastinating, so let us hope that is over now.  The whining has been substantial… So you can all stop now okay?  The talk is written.  We also had a really cold day here.  So that was a bit shit.  But we are back to blue skies and a crisp blue horizon again today.  Whew.

Without further ado, here are the hits:

1.  Coco’s hair this morning.  On Thursdays I start work early, so I don’t do her hair for her.  I went into the bathroom and caught her admiring herself this morning.  I wanted to share a pic with you, but for some reason it won’t load (??!).

So let me describe it: headband put on almost diagonally, so that it looked decidedly uncomfortable, one side near the ear the other near the occiput, a “low pony” but not tight enough, so that it was half falling out, with said low pony about eight centimetres left of centre, so that all of her just-past-bob-length hair on the right had fallen out, and, to complete the look, speed humps galore.

Without wanting to be mean (for clearly she thought she looked schweeet) I said “Oh Sweetie, did you do your own hair?”  (“Or did the cat do it?” I was thinking).  “No, Daddy did it.  Isn’t it great?”  “Yes”, I said, it’s great, now sit here and let me enhance it.”

I suspect Nathan is quite good at, um, carpenting things.

2.  These things:

Does it count if you’re melting them in your mouth?

I purchased them accidentally this week (I meant to get the dark choc version), and we all know that is it illegal to let something as sweet and innocent as this go to waste.  So I’m eating them. All.  They are going down very easily, even if my throat does have a sugar burn right now.  I Quit Sugar?  It seems the answer is no.  I blame Cadbury- the packaging is very similar to the ones I wanted…  Touche chocolate manufacturer and marketing team, touché.  (Yes, yes, I know Cadbury is bad chocolate. I know I should be eating cacao nibs or something, but I just can’t resist that velveteen purple sheen.)

3.  I’ve mentioned to you before how much I love the internets, and the kind people you come across on here, yes?

Well check this out:  Last week I read  this article in Kidspot by Lana Hirschowitz regarding a robotic toy called Sphero.  As “I know” Lana via Twitter, I sent her a message asking her if she had a Sphero, and if she thought it was as good as the excellent advertising campaign suggests.  Turns out she had a Sphero her kid didn’t want, and offered to send it to me for the Evil Geniuses.

For free.

I said I would buy it from her, and at least pay the postage, but she was having none of it.  Don’t you just think that’s amazing?  Lana doesn’t know me, or the brats, and yet, she went out of her way to go to the post office, pay to send it, etcetera, etcetera.  The kindness of strangers.

Here are the geniuses receiving it on Jammie Day:

Look at them: Liam is chuffed and is IN NO WAY sharing that thing with Coco, who is more interested in posing for the ‘receiving a package’ shot.

And here is Sphero.  His name is Charles.

Charles. The Sphero. He is a ball. Bloody hell, now I’m even personifying him.

4.  Now, I may have mentioned one or two a thousand times that I am giving a speech at a seminar this Saturday, so I required an outfit befitting my professionalism and maturity.  So of course, last Sunday I was to be found at Country Road, Maroochydore.  I’ve gotta tell you: OH MY GOD.  I had the most amazing, personalised, funny, attentive service in the known world.  I can’t remember if I’ve told you about the chicks in our local CR before, so if I have please skip ahead, for I shall be rhapsodising.

When you get to my age you can sometimes become a little invisible in shops.  Youngies don’t want to serve you, and real Oldies are more interested in straightening shelves.  Not this lot.  It was like I had a personal shopping team.  They were bringing me in things to try, gushing and complementing, and then bringing more.  They were placing jackets and scarves on me as though they were the Queen’s robes, then scuttling off to find more accoutrements.

They even gave advice on appropriate undergarments (of which I share with you next week, but for now I have one word: contraceptive), as we shared anecdotes of The Menopause and the best skincare required to combat the dreaded desert derriere.

Needless to say, I exited with the Motherlode of white bags.  Well played CR, well played.

5.  Nathan.

As I type this he is applying the heat gun (Who knew there was such a thing? I was using a travel-sized hairdryer) to some particularly ugly photo frames to remove 130 small mirror tiles that I NEED for my talk on the weekend.  You see, I decided yesterday that I simply must have mirrors.  One hundred and thirty of them.  And no shop in Noosa had any more than eight.

And then I found these, googled “removing mirrors” and found that it would be a cinch.  It isn’t.  And yet, HOTY is doing it.  At 10pm.  Nathan, the chiropractic profession is lucky to have you.  (Especially as I left it so late that I missed the  Audio Visual cutoff time for the presentation, and I do need some kind of gimmick….)

So there you have it, the HITS as I see them.  Wish me luck on Saturday, I’ll be the one vomiting with nerves in the dunnies at 3pm and trying to do a panic wee whilst wearing Spanx (Doh!  I gave the underwear post away).

What are your hits?  C’mon, gimme one at least.

…From The Ashers xx

Here’s the hits…

1.  Anticipation of All Things ANZAC.  I don’t know about you, but I find this a very emotional day.  I can easily find myself crying, watching the march: the soldiers in years gone by, and now the children, who march to uphold the tradition pass me by.  Everything from the eerie first bars of the bugle, to the remembrance, to the gratitude of a day off filled with sunshine, and ANZAC biscuits and meat pies and a gutsy and traditional match of footy.  More than Australia Day, which for me has morphed into something strange over the years, ANZAC Day is one of appreciation and a strange mix of celebration of the life we have mixed with indebtedness to those who went before us.

2.  These books:

They might be for kids, but they make me cry every.single.time.

3.  SYTYCD.  I don’t care, say what you want about the show: criticise Carrie’s hair and Paula’s dress sense if you like, but these dancers are bloody awesome. I know, I know, you’re probably thinking that I’m awesome myself, what with my Solid Gold Dancer moves from the 80s, and my white man’s overbite, mixed with a good bit of Salt n Pepper’s ‘Push It’ style, but I got nuthin’ on these guys.

4.  These super-cute CR boots that the generous E.Bunny bought for Coco in lieu of choccies.

They might be kinda up there in the price stakes I guess, but if you have a kid who simply won’t wear jeans in winter, they are a pretty cool option to pair with skirts, leggings and the like.  In fact, they will probably save us a fortune this Winter, as her Summer clothes can be worn with these and a cardi, for the pissy little 2 month Queensland cold snap we have here.  Well played Easter Bunny, you fashionista.

5.  Cadbury Chocolate Caramel Eggs.  That is all.

Hit me with your hits.. What did you love this week?

…From The Ashers xx