Keys jingled in my pocket. In and out, in and out. I whispered as I dashed to my bus stop. Vanilla skies crowned the start of my quest. For a meanderer, Asda was a ten-minute walk on Google Maps, but I am a proud warrior and a stubborn sister of a competitive runner.
Ha! Ten minutes, my butt.
Then I worked out with Zuzka Light, ran two miles and finished with deadlifts. A stroll down to Asda rivalled that of the ring’s return to Mordor. It was eleven minutes past eight when I left. In the end, I wouldn’t see my house until a billion light years later.
Have you ever set a goal for the day and do everything but that goal?
With dad away, mum and I shared the mantle of the kitchen throne. The freezer door creaked open and cold air wafted out. A bag of frozen veg, some ice cubes, and a neglected box of ice lollies, last but not least, frozen fish, filled the freezer.
Ping! I could grill that with salt, pepper, garlic and onion. Dinner sorted. But what about tomorrow?
When I’m not caring for children, chiselling a work in progress, or chasing after my favourite kid-at-hearts, I transform into my final form: a
1950s housewife zombie slayer 21st-century domestic goddess. Telekinesis still pending, but my stats +30 organisation, +40 culinary, and +50 in savviness. Don’t get me started on a few side effects, like intense regard for quality home appliances. We bought a Dyson vacuum cleaner the other day, and it changed my life.
But with great power came great weakness (and responsibility).
It started hot that day. But one should never trust the weather, especially British weather. It could rain, shine, and hail within five minutes. I pulled on a jumper and braved the night.
On the bus, I picked a newspaper off my seat. My stomach churned. A US dentist illegally hunted and killed a beloved lion, while a film of a House of Lords peer snorting coke appeared-absolutely abysmal accounts altogether! I clenched my fists. James Norton was set to storm British television. My head spun. Yes, I fangirl from time to time, but never as strongly as what I felt right then and there.
I’d like to say the scent of paper gripped me. That riveting tales at home, and abroad transported me to another realm. Or that I vomited on everyone. They were far better alternatives than to the real reason of a three-hour quest for mince meat.
I rode on the wrong bus. In true British logic, I wanted no commotion whatsoever. I changed my plans and tempted fate for more misadventure.
A hundred years later, I finally stepped on another bus. The doors swooshed open. The driver grinned at me. Fantastic. The same bus took me back in its return route. I held on to my seat, queasy out of my mind, as it zigzagged the roads.
At this point, I refused to go to Asda. I waved goodbye as the bus drove further from away the store, my house, and my sanity.
I took the bus all the way to the city centre and got off an earlier stop. No problem. I rushed out of the bus to the walkaway and fell to a stop. Breathing deeply, rats resided here and reared their demonic forms out in the night. I sped through with newfound spirit. Thank goodness, I didn’t have to attack and shout, “Ya!”
Unfortunately, I crossed paths with a different kind of pests. I picked the wrong entrance to the store. Then a bunch of men brandished their catcalls as if they offered flowers, chocolate, or the Reading Zombie Mall Experience.
No, thank you.
In and out. I reminded myself as I flew past the aisles with ten minutes left until closing time. Another a couple of men who hollered at me like I was a piece of meat. It was uncomfortable to say the least.
I crossed rat-infested walkways for the prize of mince meat. Rats! What makes you think your aggressive obscenities could stop me in my tracks? No, I’m not Chinese. No, I do not want to come home with you. No, I don’t even know you. Please stop.
I didn’t want to deal with your creepiness. Rats were horrid enough. So please next time you think of hunting for that kind of meat, think of your mother.
And how she would whoop you back to primary school for being such a rude boy.
Can you not.
In the end, I claimed my prize.
Who run the world?