Jez & Maggsy – Hardware Shopping

At the hardware shop we go to there are little seats and tables alongside some heavy duty plastic play equipment up one end of the floor. It’s for kids. They can draw and paint and climb and do the kid version of building and fixing things. DIY for little people. And sometimes their parents sit with them and sometimes there’s nobody at the section with the kids’ stuff and I’ve never actually seen the classes, but they do have classes and it means they get to do something fun and learn something and feel involved.

I’m guessing that’s the point. Also, while the kids are having some fun in their zone they’re out of their parents’ hair and that means that dad can get on with choosing the best hammer drill without the need to hurry. I suppose it means that. I don’t have kids. I mean, we don’t have kids. When we go to the hardware shop, and it’s a bloody huge place, the size of a warehouse, it’s always full of people wheeling trolleys stacked with cans of paint and outdoor furniture and power tools and fence palings and things of that kind. It’s hard enough to get around when you don’t have a trolley which has too much stuff on it, because there are people who want to stop right in front of you, without warning, and gaze at the padlocks, when all you want to do is reach out and grab a few rolls of electrical tape and be out of there, but when you are driving one of the trolleys, and some of them won’t go in a straight line, and the unstraight line they go in is exaggerated the more stuff is on them, well, then it makes getting around frankly impossible. Or close enough to it.

And when your girlfriend wants to stop and talk about light bulbs, when you’ve got all the things you came to get and it really is time to get out now, pay for the goods and go home, then it doesn’t make an already tricky and frustrating situation any easier. I hope it’s obvious that I’m going easy here. Very easy. To be honest, it can be quite an effort to stop yourself from saying something like: “What are you doing Maggsy, you stupid bitch? I want to get the fuck out of this shit fight.” And it’s even more effort to say, instead of that, something like: “Yeah, I think warm is a good idea. They work much better than the cold bulbs in our lounge room.”

It might sound as if Maggsy and I don’t get on or even don’t like each other very much or something like that. But we do. I think anyone can get on your tits a bit sometimes though and the hardware shop is a place where she goes a bit funny. Sort of like she’s temporarily insane. Just sort of wandering and getting distracted and wandering some more. And it gets on my tits. She forgets why we’re there and I have to follow her. She gets lost if I let her out of my sight and it’s a bloody trial to follow her with one of those trolleys, especially if it’s got eight bags of manure balancing on it. But it’s alright. I can cope and try to encourage her to move towards the cash registers when we’ve got what we came for, except when she spots the kids table and chairs and play equipment. Then I know we’re not going home any time soon.

She likes to watch the kids as they play and draw and stuff. They are often pretty cute, I suppose. But it’s so bloody hard to drag her away. And you get looks from people when you look at little kids you don’t know when you’re a man. Women don’t get those looks. Nobody thinks they’re dodgy, for some reason.

Published in: on January 20, 2014 at 7:25 pm  Leave a Comment  

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