Brrrr. It’s dreadfully cold this week. The clouds are rolling in remorselessly without any consideration for those with thin blood and prone to chills. I tell you this not to put Dr. J at ease, but give you context.
You see, Dr. Shark took up my finances recently and did some swift calculations. She cast a razor sharp look at me and said, “You could save $4,473.27 by November if you stop eating, buying new clothes and keep your present phone until next year.”
When Dr. Shark tells you things like that, you listen and go meekly do her bidding. So I’ve not eaten for a week – well, not quite for I did negotiate that little detail with her, telling her that were I to cut out food completely, I’d need a funeral and those are expensive, especially when I’ve commissioned particular pieces of music to be played at the funeral so they make certain people feel great guilt that they weren’t nicer to me when I was alive. So we compromised and she said I was allowed to have a 220 gram bag of chips a week, and a carton of eggs. I could have 1.71428571 eggs each morning and 15.7142857 grams of chips per lunch and dinner. In 21 weeks, that would cost me $105.00 for the eggs (she did allow me to get eggs laid by free-range chickens), and fortunately Shoppers had a sale on chips – $1.29 per bag. The total cost would be a mere 2.9528734% of what I could save. A bargain, really, when all is said and done.
Unfortunately the weather threw us off. Dr. S’s calculations were based on June having an average daytime temperature of 19.4 degrees. However, it has not been that warm. Rather the contrary. So that means I’m cold because I’m not ingesting enough to keep the fires within me going. And so the embers glow dimly, and I fall asleep too easily.
So I thought I’d cheat. I scrounged up as many pennies as I could and found that I could afford a box of PF biscuits that were on sale, also at Shoppers. I snuck in threw the pennies at the surly cashier and ran home with the box before the ravens (Dr. S’s airborne spies) could see, and ate my fill. Then I noticed that these were the lifestyle range of cookies which were meant to be better for you, and in this case, they’d replace the sugar – the sweet, pure, natural sugar – with polysorbitols and other transformed fats that tasted sweet but don’t feed you.
The horror of it all. I ate and still felt cold. Damn.
Last night my VFR vacation came to an end and I trudged over to the Roundhouse. There I saw a tiny group of people running but fortunately BK and NC were there to chat and entertain me while I lopped along. I think I may have to replace my Vibrams soon as blisters are forming on the pads of my toes. Too bad it’s not Easter, however, it was Gawai a few days ago. Perhaps I could offer up the blisters for that? Maybe not. In any case, I was stoic – did you know that there is no Italian equivalent for the word ‘stoic’? I found this out several summers ago at a picnic interrupted by a little dip in the ocean. At the time, DWE was getting into his wet suit with many a heft, hrumph and heave while PJ and the others went running gaily into the ocean and braved the cold waters. He saw the [s]sarcastic[/s] question forming in my head, and quickly blamed ML for this lack of stoicism, saying that the Italians had no idea of this concept, that if the Spartans were silly enough to remain silent while their toes were being gnawed at by a hungry fox, then they deserve to have deformed toes. The Italians, however, would have raised a hue and cry, a great hue and cry, once the fox bared its sharp little teeth. I asked ML whether this was true, and he raised his nose into the air, shrugged his shoulders and said, “Of course! What’s the point of remaining silent when you want to be noisy and create great drama!” So there you are, I’m not Italian for I was stoic in the face of the blistering pain on my toes, and even more so when I joined BK’s film group to watch Wes Anderson’s latest film. The film was determined to be quirky and was self-consciously so. M said that it was eminently forgettable, and I scared B into chewing his popcorn well before swallowing so as to avoid getting bits of popped corn in his throat and having to hack them out while pissing people (like me) around him. He did very well. Not a peep from him. I have great respect for someone who’s that polite.
Then I walked home on my blistered feet to save on bus fare which I can use to offset the cost of the eggs and chips. Dr. Shark will be pleased.
Finally, special for CA and DWA: They were ever so pleased that I found that set of missing keys. I won’t say how for I don’t want to embarrass CA – especially when he least expects it. I was called mean, nasty, bitchy and horrible for my pains. However, I bore the slings, arrows and insults in silence being stoic and polite – not perhaps as polite as B was, but almost.
After all good manners cost nothing.