Tuesday 21 October 2008

The infrequent Dominoyesmaybe Heath and Beauty Tips post

Gentle reader

Having just discovered that you can get a Bingowingoplasty it must be time for an update on the DYM waistline containment program.

As you may know several of the luminaries (and me) of this Yellow Bubble we call home are trying their best to emulate Northern Rock and shed more than a few pounds. We are each doing it in our own ways. Mine is "walking briskly" and scaring the occasional small dog that crosses my path when I am listening to Disturbed on the iPlod. There is nothing quite like "inside the fire" to put the fear of god into a Yorkshire terrier :-)

Anyway here is the news.. as of the Pre-Shower, Post-Poo totally naked (except for the tache) weigh in this morning I was 14st 6lbs AND ... wait for it... I could read the scales without having to push the belly out of the way!

That's equates in FatLardiespeak "two notches in the belt"

I deserve beer, curry and chocIlate in large amounts ... now!

However there is a problem, as you are well aware the economy has not only gone down the tubes but is out the other end and is wondering when the bars open so that it can make it's way as quickly as possible into the vomit encrusted gutter of parsimony. This leads me to a quandary, as there are now two notches in the belt I am becoming reminiscent of a rather sad white version of "MC Hammer" to the point where when my trousers catch in the breeze I get the urge to shout "U can't touch this!" , I fear a trip to the local male clothing emporium is on the cards.

To say I dislike shopping for clothes is a dramatic understatement at the ultra violet end of the litotesesque spectrum. There should be a place you can go and say "trousers,black, that fit" or "Jeans please .. quickly" and thats would be that.

For Fecks sake!

Clothes shopping has become the couture version of getting a simple cup of coffee at Starbucks!

Starbucks prole - "Does sir want his Skinny Triple Expresso Caramel Frappochiachoccomocchachino with no cream, chocolate and cinnamon sprinkles in a bowl,a bucket or a trough?"


~sigh~ There is more chance of getting that doyen of twonkdom and front man of Coldplay, Chris Martin to write a decent pop song about the joy of banjo bolts than there is of getting a simple cup of coffee from starbucks.

I digress, I enter a likely looking emporium and some infant with hair spiked in purple pig fat, (sorry the sprog tells me that should be "product-ted hair") looks up forlornly as you entrance has forced them to leave MySpit or Bleedboo on his iPhone.

"imjohnandimdelightedtobeheretohelpyou" he mumbles through 3 and half tonnes of mouth piercings.

No don't get me wrong USia has given us many great and wonderful things like Vanilla Creamer and the half-a-cow-on-a-plate steak but here in Europia we seem to have imported this insistence that I as a customer need to know the name of every unfortunate waif that has the misfortune to serve me in a retail interaction - I dont need nor want it thank you very much! Neither do I need to know that for them it will be a joy so unbounded that is surpasses that of Pope Julius II when he saw the completed Sistine Chapel ceiling.

They are my waiter/shop assistant/golfball cleasning operative/plumber or dental nurse not my new best friend. It is not a difficult concept. I know I am a customer and it comes as no surprise to me that they work here, so please, a simple "hello" is more than adequate I think I have a grasp of the dynamics of the rest of the transaction.

"Jeans " I say "I need jeans"

"K" sniffs the youth, nearly inhaling a 3 ounce nose clamp stud.

I hurriedly review my memory for the best way to do the Heimlich's maneuver on someone who has applied large quantities of grease in their hair.I wonder is there way to avoid sticking your nose into the middle of that spiky oily mess?

He leads me to the Jeans rail where there are a bewildering array of jeans. Now in my day there were Wranglers and Levi's and perhaps Lee Coopers if you proffered the "softer" look. They were proper jeans that stood up by themselves when they were new and you had to sit in the bath wearing them so they shrunk to fit. That came with the added bonus of getting a lovely indigo bottom which we wore with pride!

Now there are a bewildering plethora of makes, none of which I have heard of and all of which are not jeans. They are preshrunkprefadedstonewashed and SOFT! and horror of horrors most do not have a crotch rivet!


What do young folk do now instead of that jolly jape we played on drunken chums in the past ... oh you know the one ... a chum passes out and you hold a soldering iron to the crotch rivet until they wake up .. oh how we laughed at that one, happy times ~sigh~ aye indeed happy times.

Time for bed ... and remember children never run with scissors!

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