When I grew up we lived near a woman who used to walk around the village for miles and miles holding a vegetable – or sometimes a melon – with her arm outstretched. The woman clearly had some kind of mental health issue. I’m not mocking her by any means. As a child I was always slightly fascinated about what drove her to it, whether it was some big life event, or whether she’d always had issues and life proved too much, so she found her solace in a good walk with a large melon.
Now I get it.
The woman was a mother.
This will be me in a few years’ time.
You see I too walk miles and miles every day. Well, looking at my never-shrinking fat arse, probably not miles, but walk back and forth, back and forth I go around the house, up and down the stairs, inside and outside. I pick up toys from one room and relocate them to another. I pick up dirty washing from one room and take it to the washing machine. I take piles of clean washing up the stairs for sorting. Back and forth I go, every fucking day.
Apparently Mr MotherFudger wears some kind of invisible glasses that ensure he can’t see all this misplaced items, but is able to step over them. I don’t have these glasses.
I won’t list the stupid amounts of things I have relocated just tonight, but if I see a Mr Potato Head arm in our bedroom it almost pains me to leave it there, when I know a nose is in the bathroom and the rest of the pieces are in the nice tidy box in the lounge. How can I ignore that child’s stethoscope when it so needs to be with its little doctor’s set friends in the case?
So walk around my house I do. Putting Pat back with his post van, returning another Happy Land character to their rightful home, marrying up cup and plastic saucer. On and on I go.
Mr Potato Head feet carelessly in a random toy box…
…no no no, I must relocate them to their correct location…